I Gave Birth to a Clown…


Not the disturbing “IT” clown, or the creepy “Poltergeist” puppet clown that have both individually scarred me for life, but a regular old, fun-loving actual clown. A 4.5 year old clown with no way of controlling his random spaz movements, or about 99.999% of what comes out of his mouth.

And I love it.

Our twins are definitely representative of my husband and I. Andy is loud, a ham, thrives on attention and making people laugh, is creative, quirky, and breaks almost everything he touches.

Like me.

Tyler, on the other hand, is a serious little monkey. He needs to know how everything works, and likes to pull things apart, then put them back together, then pull them apart, then put them back together, ad nauseam. He is quietly funny, likes to be alone in a room of people, and likes to imagine.

Like my husband.

Of course when either one of them is acting like a jerkhead, we like to say the child got that from the other parent. Who doesn’t do that?

So, the clown, my Ando Bonando:Andy the Clown

He likes to break into random dancing like Elaine on Seinfeld, and there’s nothing he won’t dance to. He does the “worm” standing up, then falls onto the floor, does a handstandand just stays like that for a few minutes. I call it Abstract Breakdancing. He bursts into Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive” while banging on the piano, and loves the beginning of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”.  He likes to talk to adults, and he says the most awesome things.

Today, he was talking about his teacher, Ms. Stacey.

Andy: I think Ms. Stacey is engaged. ( I didn’t think he knew that word)

Me: No, she’s married, honey.

Andy: (eyes wide) To the MUFFIN MAN????

Me: (likes to go with it) The one on Drury Lane?

Andy: Well, there is only one muffin man, mom

’tis true, I know of no other muffin man.

He’s also very blunt, crude, and kinda gross.

We were at the McDonald’s play area the other day, and he and Tyler were playing with a little girl they just met. (They call girls “girdle”)

Andy says LOUDLY:

“I smell farts. I can taste them in my mouth! Hey, girdle, are you farting???”

I died for a minute.

He is in love with “Shrek the Musical” and screams at anyone that will look at him: “WHAT ARE YOU DOIN’ IN MY SWAMP?!”

He wants toys and costumes that don’t exist and if he had his way, he’d be wearing a Doctor Doom costume and carrying around a 4 foot Buzz Lightyear toy that will clean his room for him.

I hope he’s always this carefree, although not too much in school.

I don’t want to have a permanent chair in the principal’s office.

Words and Phrases That I Hate…

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You know how there are some things people say that make you cringe? I have a few of those. They are either not actual words or they invoke a feeling of oogieness I cannot shake.

Please to enjoy the following:

1. Irregardless – YES, I know it’s in the dictionary, but it says it’s nonstandard, which is a nice way of saying: “OMG, we totally know it’s not a word, but since people keep saying it all the damn time, we’re just gonna stick it in here.”

Regardless means: “Without regard”, sticking the “ir” on it, makes it a double negative and I ain’t got no time for that.

2. Preggers - The most bass-ackward way of saying pregnant. It makes me want to rip off the ear lobes of the person who says it and then sew them back on upside down.

3. Fester This word brings to mind an image of unhealed, moist, infected wounds and bald Uncles.

4. Feces – I know it’s the technical term, but for some reason “poop” is just way less gross. Say it with me: Fee – Sees

5. Bosom – I’m pretty sure it’s because I used to watch “Bosom Buddies” and called it “BOZE-EM” and my mom made fun of me. Plus just look at it for a minute, it just looks weird.

6. Broad – I hate it when men call women a “broad”. I want to yell: “Hey, great-great grandpa, 1914 called, and they want you back!”

7. Maggot – *full body shiver*

8. “Cheaper to Keep Her” – Nothing says love more!

9. “Old Ball and Chain” – See #8

10. “It is what it is”: It has to be what it is, or it would be what it isn’t, and that would blow everyone’s minds.

11. “Could care less” – Now, if you could care less, that means you still care a little. If you don’t care at all, and have no more caring about it to do, then you couldn’t care less.

There are more words and phrases that irritate me, but in keeping with my G – PG13 rated rants, I will refrain.

This broad’s outta here.


2014 in review


The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,200 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 37 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Feel the Power of the Elf on the Shelf!

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I did something kinda bad last night.

I made my kids cry, and deep inside, where my cockles are, it gave me a HUGE happy.

They were being ROTTEN, and I WANTED them to cry.

(Ok, in their defense, I didn’t try to redirect them, or pay attention to them, or feed them, but STILL, acting like the end of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, is no bueno.)

So, the Elf on the Shelf, named Shredder, has a lot of power in my house. At least for a minute or two. Telling the kids that Shredder is going to tell on them helps keep them in check for about 56.8 seconds.

We ONLY move the Elf at night after the kids go to bed, on days they are being punkasses bad listeners. THAT way, they know they need to try harder.

Last night, I was on my last nerve, and that was even my last reserve nerve, of which I had about 5,000 stored up in my nerve reserve holder. I was about to lose my mind. I was trying to wrap presents, and they had to wrestle RIGHT THERE.

I was trying to eat dinner and they were wrestling RIGHT THERE.

I was trying to Pee, for crying out loud, and they were wrestling RIGHT THERE!!!

So, when they weren’t looking, I grabbed the Elf off the shelf and hid it in my underwear drawer, ’cause that’s how I roll.

I walked into the family room and said loudly: “Oh, NO. THAT’s NOT GOOD!”

The kids came running, and I pointed to the empty space on the shelf.

I said: “Oh, Wow, guys, Shredder was so irritated that he left WHILE YOU WERE STILL AWAKE to tell SANTA you’ve been bad!”

Instant wailing.

Like at an Italian funeral. ( I can say that, as those are my people).

“I DON’T WANT SANTA TO BE MAD!” one wails.

“I’M NOT GONNA GET ANY PRESENTS!” the other wails.

They were so loud, I shut the pocket doors to the family room, and sat in the living room with my equally irritated husband and we giggled.


The Elf has power. Not like Grayskull power, but that little creepy thing is a wielder of something helpful here and there.

Ode to My Brother


My little brother turned 40 the other day.

That makes me 43, I hate to say.

I feel older than that, my life’s over I’m fearing.

What’s that you say? I’m losing my hearing.

I remember us as kids playing outside.

Making leaf houses and on bikes we would ride.

We played Circus Atari, killing the stick man with glee.

We’d practice stunts with him balanced on my knee.

I laughed at his Ken doll with its girl-like “down there”…

Then my Barbie dolls would suddenly be missing their hair.

We danced to 45’s on my Disco record player,

To Dolly Parton, Eagles, and even Leo Sayer.

I stretched his Plastic Man to epic proportions,

Then my Farrah Fawcett head he painted to distortion.

There was that thing with our cat, that’s too hard to tell,

But let me assure you, it was funny as hell.

He’s all grown up now, with a wife and kids – there are two,

Who thankfully never smelled his teenage tennis shoes.

Hard to believe I’ve known him 40 years,

He’s brought me laughter, bruises, jokes, and tears,

But I think he’s pretty awesome, and I wanted to say,

To my brother, Happy 40th, (Now YOU’RE OLD) birthday.


Santa Gets Too Much Credit

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As I’m looking through the 4,678,325 presents I’ve hoarded for my kids since June, I’m wondering why in the heck is Santa going to get all the credit? What has he done, really?

Santa is fun, of course, and jolly. Oh, and he likes cookies, but who doesn’t like cookies, really?

Speaking of cookies: I’m still trying to perfect no-bake cookies, they are either a delicious soupy mess, or rocks… I took some to my Community Band party the other night, and they looked like 10 year old chocolate geodes compared to the others’ beautiful glistening chocolate goodness piles. So embarrassing. 

Anyway, SANTA. Santa, and the Elf on the Shelf that the kids named Shredder (Ninja Turtle fans, not office supplies) are what keeps the kids behaving slightly better than normal in December.  We only move the elf if the kids are being naughty this year, that way we don’t get suspicious 4 year old glares when Shredder is in the same spot from one night to the next.

Shouldn’t the kids behave for ME and their daddy? Why does SANTA get all the good behavior? He wasn’t on Amazon shopping at 4 am, walking through crowded malls, or making spreadsheets for grandmas and grandpas…oh no, he just gets to be jolly and have a million TV shows focused on him.

Where’s MY show? I can eat cookies, too.

The good thing about Santa, I will admit, is that if the kids ask for something ridiculous I can blame Santa for not getting it. “Sorry, kids, guess Santa didn’t have $20,000 to buy you that elephant you wanted!”

Once they are older and know the truth, all bets are off.

I dread the time telling the kids there is no Santa, though. Twin A is so into it, he wants to keep out our 5 foot singing Santa out all year round, and talks about Santa from April to December.

I remember when the Teen was 7 or 8 and asked if Santa was real because stupid little Matt Frye down the street, who was a JERK, told him. I said, no, he wasn’t real, and the Teen was upset, but took it well, and said he thought it was probably not true.

I cried, though. I was SO sad! I remember my Mom crying when I found out and I thought she was nuts! I called her and apologized for laughing at her.

Then I mentioned to the Teen that the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny weren’t real either, and he gave me the Look of all Looks.

“WHAT?! They aren’t real either???”

I said: “Wait a second, an old man delivering presents on a sleigh seemed kinda crazy to you, but a fairy that collects TEETH and a BUNNY that delivers CHOCOLATE seemed LIKELY????!!!”

Teen  (crying): MY WHOLE LIFE HAS BEEN A LIE! (runs away, won’t speak to me for an hour)



Does Any Woman Really Need Peach Scented Nethers? (Featured on BlogHer.com)

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So I was shown an article today about the possibility of peach scented girly bits.

Yeah, you read that right.

Oh, and it was developed by dudes.

Thanks, dudes!

Peach in woman’s hands, Image Credit: ShutterstockBecause these men are very concerned about women’s urinary tract infections and yeast infections, they have come up with a lovely probiotic that will help clear that shiz right up.

The bonus? Your vagina will smell like a peach.

That’s right, ladies, your vagina will now remind everyone around you of Georgia, and pie, and that song by The Presidents of the United States of America.

I have a few thoughts:

1. Will they make chocolate scented UTI meds for guys? Probably not, we wouldn’t be that lucky.

2. How strong will this peach scent be? Will everyone around you smell it and automatically know that you have a UTI or yeast infection? That’s TMI on a level I’m not sure I will ever be comfortable with.

*sniff sniff* “Oh, HEY, Marsha, smells like you have a UTI!”

3.  The ramifications of this scented vagine-ny goodness could be huge. What if a man was innocently eating a peach on his way home from work, and his wife smells it on him. She might think he was cheating and kill have a serious talk with him.

4. Will they come up with new scents every few years? Not a huge fan of peaches, myself, maybe I want popcorn, or peanut butter. Maybe I want to smell like a Dairy Queen Peanut Buster Parfait with extra peanuts, and peanut butter sauce on the side?

I hope this was just an interesting side effect, and not on purpose, because, really, I already dye my hair, shave my legs, pluck that one winding chin hair that is longer than I am tall, do I really need to scent my vagina, too?

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"Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) is a personality disorder in which a person is excessively preoccupied with personal adequacy, power, prestige and vanity, mentally unable to see the destructive damage they are causing to themselves and to others in the process."


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