Tuesday, April 19, 2016

DUDES! I'm Not Joshing You! This Is, Like, For Real!

All I can say, is that, Dudes, the power of prayer? It's freakishly strong.

Like, for reals.

And by reals, I mean really real reals, people.

I mean, like, stories for the family genealogical archives and everything reals!

Awwww....Yeah! The best kind of for reals: Historical for reals!

I've even archived the pictures!

Because serious family genealogy has to start somewhere.

And now, someday Katie and Ellie will be sitting at the matriarchal ends of the Thanksgiving table, passing around the vegan clam chowder, and the littlest great-great-grandchild, with pigtails bobbing and book hidden under the table, will confidently lisp, "Tell uth about Great Great Grandmama again, pleasth." And, because I prayed, Katie and Ellie will be able to dig out these pictures and tell them, once again, the story that proves I was a good and Godly woman.

Ooo! (claps hands, jumps up and down) Just like Bathsheba!


Not because of the whole adultery and murder thing!

But, because, the Girl Scout camp where I once worked had outdoor showers.

Oh gosh... I hope that was obvious....

Weeeeeellll... anyway-

This story is about...

a kitten!

On my deck!!

Who wants to cuddle with me!!!

While I drink coffee!!!!
 That's right, people.

God totally just gave me...

my own cat cafe!!!!!
Because I prayed for it.





With a holy need.





Deep down in my heart.

Ok, fine!

It's possible that maybe it was less like praying and more like whining. But, in my defense, It'd been a really crappy day.

And, sure, this may not actually be how prayer works-wait! Guys! UNLESS! GOD! IN HIS ALL POWERFUL POWERFULNESS WANTS IT TO!!

(cue bright light bulb over my head, heck, throw in some organ music for good measure)

Hey! God! How's it goin'? Goooood. Anyway! Have you seen this shower?

Because, God? I'm pretty sure that my Biblical Spirit Woman, Bathsheba, would totally want me to have it. 


Oops. Sorry. 

I mean, please. 



Tuesday, March 29, 2016

I Think Dolly Parton Would Agree. NOW! NEWLY UPDATED!

Yesterday, Ellie and I had just got home from school and she immediately sat down at the kitchen table, pulled out her math workbook and started to do.... math.

Dudes. I didn't have to ask. I didn't have to beg. I didn't even have to bribe her. (As long as you don't count the doughnut we stopped for on the way home a bribe. A yummy sprinkle covered bribe....)

Looks left. Looks right. Looks under chair, because, really, you never know. Looks you straight in the eyes and whispers, "I know. It's kinda freaking me out too..."

Speaking of things that kinda freak me out...

(cue up Sylvester Stallone singing country)

No. Not that. That's. Hilarious.

(Note to self: Waste perfectly good Saturday night watching "Rhinestone".)

No, I was thinking more like NAPSA.

And, in case you haven't seen NAPSA come across in your Facebook feed,  it's-



Let's break this down Balderdash style.

Is NAPSA the...

A. North Atlantic Philosophical Sailors Association
B. National Association for the Preservation of Skin Art
C. National Association for the Preservation of Skin Art
D. National Association for the Preservation of Skin Art

If you picked A (North Atlantic Philosophical Sailors Association) I'm guessing you live in Australia and know all about Horatio's left arm*. Which is, like, awesome! But. You picked badly. Because you're wrong.

It's B. 

And C.

And D.

Because, seriously, it's that disturbing.

I mean, NOW how am I supposed to screen the parents of my kid's friends?

Seriously! Because, you know, previously, I could totally drop my kids at a new friend's house, take a quick glance at their decor and be pretty certain that I wasn't leaving them at some psychotic skin suit wearing killer's house. Why? BECAUSE THERE WAS NO HUMAN SKIN DISPLAYED ON THEIR WALLS!

But now? I'm going to have to stoop to snooping through their kitchen drawers.

Because we have to draw the line somewhere.

And I'm hoping it's at oven gloves made out of Great Uncle Bob's biceps.

Guys, I think there's a classier way to do this whole tattoo preservation thing! AND! It's totally approved by both Sylvester Stallone and Dolly Parton!

If Dolly had tattoos.


*He "found the direct evidence of the existence of soul" in his left arm. Guys? History is awesome!

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

I Spelled Omniscient As Omnisiount. Because I Still Have Free Will. Google.


Again, my computer has put on its "Evil Overlord Editor" hat. Which looks more like a tiara than a fedora, because, well...because...it's...you know, it's obvious, soooo.....

See, my computer in it's omnisiount power has deleted another post I was writing. A week of work, just, gone-disappeared from my computer. And, yes, computer people (everybody wave at Jon!), I looked through my computer history and, I swear, it's like those hours I spent writing don't even exist!

Thought! My computer is in cahoots with Daylight Savings, Benjamin Franklin and the six fingered man from "The Princess Bride". There's virus software for that, right?

I mean, it's not like my ramblings were that bad, you know?

Ok, sure, I may have been writing jokes about Satan in the post it deleted from last week.

And, in one other deleted post, I was trying to draw a well scientifically researched line between ice skating falls and diarrhea.

But that other time! I was totally writing a review about the Pulitzer Prize winning novel All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr!  Which is like, a real quality writing topic, you know? But, apparently my computer knew I hadn't actually read the book. It knew my Americano sipping and loud page flipping was sheer posturing. To impress the other coffee shop people. Who I don't know. With my...intelligence.

But, dudes, I did the exact same thing in college once and my typewriter didn't even blink an eye, not even once, through that ten page paper on The Grapes of Wrath*.

So, in order to pull one over on Google, who runs the Internet with Amazon, near as I can figure, I'm posting. Yes. I am. After only 50 minutes of writing, editing, revising, staring off into space and watching people order their drinks at the coffee shop I'm shoving this post into Google's face! Because, just like the Paper Bag Princess, I don't need a knight to save me from myself.

*Note to my alma mater: Look. Don't freak out. I totally read The Grapes of Wrath in, like, seventh grade. So, let's not put this in my file next to that accusation of plagiarism**, kay?

**Note to Mom and Dad: OK, see, I wrote my paper debating pacifism and nationalism in the form of a short story, and, well, apparently, real college students don't turn in well researched fiction as English papers....

Friday, February 12, 2016

Mocking IKEA. MLA Style. Which Is A Lot Like Watching A UFC Fight, But More Exciting. Because There Are Page Numbers. And Shoe Racks.

IKEA! High five up high, man! You are really stepping up your game!


I use to have to log into my PinINterest account to mock interior decorating themes.

Because they didn't finish the quote.
And Charles Dickens is wearing his disappointed face. 
Which, you know, is fiiiiine. But, sometimes, you long for some unplugged, technology free mocking time. Like they had in the olden days.

Sitting around the tables at Wendy's. 

But, IKEA? Lately they've totally been filling that "let's be fully present while we mock" need!

"It's the little things that matter." (pg. 1)
Really? Are you sure about that, IKEA?

"Room for one more?" (pg. 59)

Everyone doesn't think so, IKEA.... 

"A well-oiled machine. A cleverly planned come-and-go area 
means that traffic can flow without pile-ups." (pg. 110)

Unless there's a toddler in the house.

Going to the bathroom.
Pretty much better than nature. (pg. 141)


No. No. It's not. Shut up, Nicolas. (pg. 107)

This is, like, the best "go to" motto for the bathroom. Ever.
(That was sarcasm, IKEA. Don't be fooled.) (pg. 144)

Look, IKEA, deep down-
-deep down no one loves their significant other this much.
So,  just remove your "awake" zone from
my "sleep" zone and no one will get hurt.
Yeah, yeah, I love you too.
Now, shhhh.... I'm sleeping. (pg. 155) 

"For days when you look less than fabulous-
a pretty net curtain comes between you and your reflection." (pg. 121)
Step back, Willis.
I think IKEA just called us all ugly.

And this face?

This face thinks that is one ugly chair.
Because two can play at that game, IKEA. (pg. 310)

Friday, February 5, 2016

If You Don't Say Anything Out Loud It's Not Passive Aggression, It's a Writing Prompt. Plus, In My Fantasy? Dude Got To Make His Own Ice Cream!

I visit a coffee shop every Thursday morning. It's supposed to be my treat (add selfish glare here) before spending the majority of my day volunteering at Katie's school, because, let's face it, when you show up to school drop off with this hairdo*:

You're totally outing yourself as a... stay-at-home mom. Shhhhh....

(look anxiously over shoulder) Maybe they didn't hear that over there at Ellie's school....Maybe.

So now every Thursday I order an Americano, flip open my computer and write for an hour.


Unless Loud Guy On Cell Phone shows up.

Then I spend my hour recreating the other side of his loud phone conversation.

Loud Guy On Cell Phone: (walks into coffee shop, places computer bag on chair next to mine) Why does Evan even have to come back?

Person on Other End Of Cell Phone Tower/or Me. In my own head. But Typing Replys On My Computer So It Doesn't Look Like I'm Eavesdropping**: (incredulously, obviously) Because he makes his own ice cream! And there's that... ice cream contest. At... the company.

Loud Guy On Cell Phone: (Interrupting. (Dude. How rude?))  Right. I don't think he's going to come back.

Person on Other End of Cell Phone Tower/Really Me Typing: No, Dude! Ice cream is like a really big deal for Evan. He, like, full on transports last year's trophy to and from work every day. He's not-

Loud Guy On Cell Phone: (Interrupting. (I know! Who'd of thought!?!)) I don't think he's going to accept it if he does-

Person on Other End of Cell Phone Tower/Maybe I Should Just Say Me: (Interrupting. Because two can play at that game.) That new thing down from HR? He might! Plus he was talking about this new flavor, Lemon Chocolate Chip. He seemed really-

Loud Guy On Cell Phone: (Interrupting. (Because that's just how he is.)) I'm sorry, but I think he's going to do something else anyway!

Cell Phone Tower Person/Me: (Sign. Eye roll. Throws hands in air. Like I just don't care. But  because I'm annoyed, not to indicate inhibition on a dance floor.)

Loud Guy on Cell Phone:  Look, what do you think of-I'm just looking at Joel-

Me: Because he wears funny shoes? I don't-

Loud Guy: I thought you said you did have it in there!

Me: (Oh! OK, I get it now. Still on ice cream. Loud Guy is pretty concerned about their ice cream making team. Which is good, because I know all about making homemade ice cream! Thanks, Mom!) Well, it seems there are holes in our ice cream team wait list, man. You've just told me we've lost our best ice cream maker, it's gonna take time to get the team back in the same freezer canister, so to speak, once they hear of this.

Loud Guy: Right.

Me: Exactly, we'll need to suggest someone. Now, Libby has her own antique ice cream maker, crank and all. But, Karl, Karl used to work for Cold Stone Creamery. Bolden just wrote, "I like ice cream" on his application. We're all over the place! We're going to need to dash these people into shape. Ice cream maker pun intended there, Dude. (I'm doing so well! It's like I'M actually having the conversation with Loud Cell Phone Guy!)

Loud Guy: Right. I just don't know which one. Because, they all look good and I don't know how to pick.

Me: We could-

Loud Guy: What did you think about Gino? Did you like him?

Me: (rude breathy noise) Uhhh...no. No one likes Gino.

Loud Guy: Ok, so it's not just me.

Me: (I can say this, because Loud Guy and me? We're friends now.)Nope. He smells funny.

Loud Guy: I know. I know! Can I ask you a question? Why not just put all your buckets into interns?

Me: (Scrambling, because, if they have an ice cream contest at this guys company every year, I want to work there! So, I need to make a good impression!) Because of...the...um...zebras? On ...Joel's shoes?

Loud Guy: Ok, coooool.... Sure. Um, You hang in there.  (Puts phone in pocket. Walks away. To order coffee. Or because He and Joel are like best bestest besties and Loud Guy thinks Joel's zebra shoes are amazing, and now, I've totally insulted him.)

Me: (Mumbling as I close my computer, and start to pack up to volunteer. At Katie's school. Again.) Shoot, man! I'll never get a job at his company now. (tsk) Good goin', Martha.

*Ellie did my hair. I look pretty. She told me so.

**Look, it wasn't just me, Okay? EVERYONE was eavesdropping in the coffee shop that day.

Friday, January 29, 2016

The Post Where I Become A Cat AND A Coffee Critic. Because That's A Real Thing*.

I love coffee.

And I love cats.

But, because Jon has decided to be selfish allergic to cats, the type of joy one takes in the mundane everyday stuff of life has been thrown all lopsided like. Awry. Disproportional. Irregular. Strabismic. Yes. Strabismic, Jon.

Even the cats feel it.



I started hearing rumors about a new coffee shop opening up in my neighborhood.

Me: (in my head) Cool. A new coffee shop to try out. Maybe they'll have good snacks..... For the children.



People started saying it was going to have cats!

Me: (internally. hopefully.) CUTE LITTLE KITTIES!?! REALLY!?! I'll hold them and squeeze them and love them FOREVER!!!!

Suddenly, my morning runs took on a whole other purpose as I systematically, in a logical grid like manner, began to scour the neighborhood streets for an empty storefront with a sign placed in the window that said something along the lines of:

P.S. The cats love you. 
A lot.

And, one morning, I kid you not, I found it, just blocks from Katie's school.  It was all curled up in the rain, with it's tail over it's nose, cozy and cuddly, purring away.

Yes, buildings purr.

(Shut up.)

And, my mind flew off on a flurry of imagniariums.

Each image






My life was going to look exactly like that! Drop the kids at school. Walk to the coffee shop. Play with cats. Pick the kids up from school. Go to bed. Wash, rinse and repeat. Every! Day!

But, first, I thought it would be nice to share with the children my new found life goal of spending 16 hours a day, minimum, at the cat coffee shop. Because, as every parenting class teaches you, as parents of young children we need to take care of ourselves first so we can take care of the children. Later. After we play with the cats.

So, after school the next day, Katie, Ellie and I skipped over to the cat coffee shop. We sang Ellie's "Cat Song" the whole way. Because she's five. And she asked us to. (Spoiler Alert: Ellie's song has just one word, "meow". Repeated over and over and over. Sung. You guessed it. Loudly.)



On the door, there was a sign. It said:


Me: (in my head) Well....shoot..... Wait. Dude! I'll just, you know, go over that whole stranger danger thing again with Ellie and buy her a cookie. She'll just sit at a table. She'll be fiiiiiine. (out loud) Would you like a cookie, Ellie?

Ellie: Meow!

Me: (in my head, again) Problem. Solved.



I read further down the sign. And it said:


Me: (thinking quickly) Shoot. I don't have a reservation. Wait! I buy both girls only one cookie. I make them split it, and then, while the staff are distracted by the inevitable "I don't want to share with my sister diversion" this will create, I'll just sneak into the cat room! No one will know! Brilliant!



The sign ended with these words:


And my heart broke.

Because I did math.

And, even without Katie's help I know, 16 hours X $10 is more than my daily budgeted latte expenses.

By a lot.

So this. This is as close as we got to cats that day.

And, as we wiped the last of the cat shaped cookie crumbs from our hands, we finally left the cat coffee shop. Shoulders drooping. Dragging our woebegone selves home. Through the rain.

But, somehow? I don't think we were the only disappointed ones.

* This is the internet. I don't lie about these kinds of things:

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

And You Thought I Was Just Being Lazy. Duuude, That Hurts. Because...

I'm pretty much sure I'm a Disney Princess:


See, I heard some kids talking the other day at, I don't know, the bank, or an art museum or while I was nursing two sore buttocks at the ice skating rink, whatever, it's not important, what's important is that they said that there are, like, real live actual requirements to be considered a member of the Disney Princessdom.

Seriously! The PRINCESSDOM!

Now, the kids didn't actually list out the requirements, but, Dude, I've seen like five princess movies, I've got this.

So, grab a pencil and keep track of all the requirements you meet.

Because you might be a Disney Princess too.

1. Must own dinglehoppers.

People! I own dinglehoppers.

That sparkle. Like the treasure untold they are.

2. Have a fascination with the fiber arts.

I made this once! With needles! That were pointy!

And then I took a nap.

3. Own shoes, that you leave in inconvenient places.

I leave my shoes on the stairs all the time!

Sometimes Jon finds them. And brings them to me.

4. Must be good enough friends with the animals of the forest that they will do household chores. 

Totally! I mean, I have a squirrel friend! Who makes beds!

I believe in you, little guy! You can do it!*

*Princesses. We're notoriously overly optimistic.

5. Own a lot of books. Put them on bookshelves.

I know what you're thinking, but, no, owning the complete Twilight series does not count against your Princessdom application.

But only because Bella doesn't discover that Edward's a prince in disguise 'til chapter three!

So, which Disney Princess are you?

P.S. Now that you're a real Disney Princess, remember, take time for the little people. And their mom.