Thank You, Siri

My mother-in-law and I went shopping together recently in an area that I wasn’t familiar with. After we left one location to head to another, I had to get Siri to give me directions, since navigation isn’t either of our strong suits. True to form, Siri started telling me how many feet to go until each turn and so on.

I noticed something after receiving a few directions from Siri — my mother-in-law was quite engaged with her.

And then when Siri gave too many directions about upcoming roads or whatever…

Or something to that effect, and naturally, I about peed my pants laughing. I told my MIL that I wanted to doodle that, since it cracked me up, and then after we chatted about it a bit, I asked her if I could write about some of her other tech funnies. She regularly reads my blog and knows what type of stuff I post, and she agreed. Others probably wouldn’t want their “The struggle is real” situations put out for the world to see, but my MIL is pretty laid back and is always quick to laugh. She once recorded a video singing “Y’all gonna make me lose my minds” and dancing with my kids, so she’s definitely one of those rare people who don’t take themselves too seriously and enjoys the moment.

So, I welcome you to the doodled mini roast (sort of) of my mother-in-law, AKA MawMaw.

(She has been included in one of my past stories. Check out Little Man’s prank if you haven’t read it yet.)

I’m pretty sure that our phone number is on my mother-in-law’s speed dial, and it’s not so much that we’re her favorite people in the world to talk to as it is we’re her go-tos for tech help. We’ve seen her through countless viruses back when she had a desktop computer. Despite installing the best antivirus software known to man and locking down all permissions to make it virtually impossible to mess up her machine, she’d still infect the dang thing, and we’d be called to fix it. I’m not sure exactly what she was looking at or downloading for this to happen, but happened it did.

Same with the tablet, laptop, smartphones, etc. Viruses weren’t so much the issue with these devices, but there were lots of questions about how to install apps, how to delete apps, upload pictures, etc. (Stuff I would expect since it seems like this stuff changes constantly.) Once there was a help request regarding Facebook.

Facebook Problems

Like almost everyone else I know, my MIL is on Facebook. For a while I’d regularly see her post pictures, memes, etc., but then I noticed that she wasn’t posting as often, and I assumed that she got tired of using Facebook for anything more than checking out pictures of her grandkids.

Wrong.

One day I was at my MIL’s house with the kids when she got her phone out and started scrolling through Facebook. At one point, she commented about how no one ever liked or commented on her Facebook statuses. At first, I thought she just meant that people didn’t comment/like things often enough — and I felt guilty for not liking them myself, even though I didn’t see them — but no, she really did mean it never happened.

After pulling up her Facebook page, I saw very quickly why there were no comments or likes.

Yep, her posts were locked, so she was the only one who could see them. I scrolled through for a bit and saw that several months worth of posts were locked. Birthday wishes, photos, posts about the grandkids, memes, updates, etc. All locked, so no likes/activity from family or friends. I could only imagine the frustration that must have been building up! 

Obi Wan Jesus

This one will be new for my mother-in-law, since I never commented on it.

One night when Baby Girl really was more of a baby, I was rocking her to sleep. It was one of those nights where she didn’t fall to sleep easily, so I was there for a while. After she dozed off, I continued rocking (it took her no less than 15 minutes to get into a deep enough sleep to be moved) and turned on my phone. I scrolled through a few statuses when I came across one post from my MIL that almost made me have to restart the rocking routine.

I didn’t even realize it was Obi Wan at first, since I was just scrolling, but then I realized, “Hey, something’s not right there…” I scrolled back up, and there was Obi Wan Kenobi in all of his Jesus glory. It was all I could do not to howl with laughter. My husband noticed my not-so-muted snickering and peered over my shoulder to see what I was laughing at, and he almost lost it, too.

Legal Troubles?

My in-laws got a new car last year, and like many other new cars, it has a shiny infotainment system. It has navigation, satellite radio, apps, etc. One of the apps (or services, I suppose) they have is On-Star. If you aren’t familiar with On-Star, it’s a service that helps with navigation, emergency services, and more. My in-laws regularly used On-Star for directions and stuff, and one day my MIL approached me to ask about the possibility of legal trouble regarding their new car.

After complaining about how well the On-Star service was working, she told me that she was worried they were going to get arrested because my FIL cussed out the virtual adviser. He asked for directions, and it didn’t understand him and it gave him some random answer. After that happened a few times, he let loose a string of curse words.

“Could he go to jail for that?” she asked me.

I can usually keep a straight face with her, but this time I couldn’t. The thought of cussing out On-Star’s version of Siri is was humorous enough, but getting arrested for it? I about pissed my pants.  I assured her that no one was monitoring those interactions (I think) and that no laws had been broken.

I’m sure it won’t be long before Little Man could write his own version of this post for his dad and me!

Do you have any funny tech mishaps to share?

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Let The Fun(draisers) Begin

Do you know what school starting back up is synonymous with? Aside from early mornings where everyone bitches, doesn’t eat their breakfast, and then whines about being hungry? And also loses the mate to every single pair of shoes they own?

Fundraisers!

I’m pretty sure they shove the fundraiser forms at kids the second they enter school on their very first day. Forget school handbooks, emergency contact forms, and all that crap — fundraiser forms are priority number one. This means that basically from late August until mid May, anyone with a child is a social pariah. People will go great lengths to avoid being asked if they want to support Little Johnny popcorn or fruit crate fundraiser.

I hate school fundraisers almost as much as I hate zucchini, and that’s saying something. It’s like that song from Annie, It’s A Hard Knock Life, where the little orphans are singing about all the shit Miss Hannigan makes them do, but with adults and selling useless crap instead of cleaning.

It’s the hard-knock life for us
It’s the hard-knock life for us
Always making us sell useless shit
To buy more cheap Chromebooks for your kids
It’s the hard-knock life!

(Excuse me while I go rewrite the disgruntled parents version of Annie.)

When I was a kid, we had one big fundraiser for school where we sold wrapping paper. Apparently at Christmastime, there was a massive shortage of wrapping paper, so it was crucial to sell the same thing you could buy at Walmart at a 300 percent markup. And then there was a fundraiser with the softball team where we sold candy. Candy wasn’t a problem, since most people didn’t cringe when they saw you coming their way with those big boxes of M&Ms. Except for that one lady who yelled at me for trying to kill her because she was diabetic, anyway. (That’s every 10-year-old’s dream — to rid the world of the diabetics. Sigh.)

Things are different now. They sell lots more useless crap now, and depending on which school your kids go to (not the boy’s), the kids who sell the most useless crap are treated like celebrities for a day. One year there was a limo ride to a local pizza place, followed by playing in a bounce house rental. I think that was the same year, at least.

There’s also the “Fun Runs.” Little Man has repeatedly asked what the heck is supposed to be so fun about these Fun Runs, but I’m not really sure.

Maybe an inflatable obstacle course would be lots of fun, but jogging around a track or inside of a gym isn’t anyone’s definition of fun. Some years they do Color Runs, which I have a love-hate relationship with. On one hand, it’s fun to squirt my kid in the face with the colored chalk stuff, but on the other hand, I have to let him ride home in my car. We’ll call that the Sorta Fun Run. (By the way, I was so disappointed at the first Color Run. For whatever reason, I thought we got to throw large paint balls at the children. We did not.)

It is my dream that one day the schools will have fundraisers that the parents will actually enjoy. Instead of being forced to wait tables for a night at a restaurant so the school can keep the tips (whoever the fuck came up with this horrible idea for a fundraiser can go straight to hell) or harass coworkers to buy garbage, we need fundraisers that are actually fun. There has to be a way  a person can raise funds while not hating their own existence, right?

Ultimate Dodgeball

There are two ways you can go with this. First, parents vs. other parents. Charge $10 per participant and have fun launching balls at the heads of the other parents you loathe for an hour. Second, parents vs. kids. Same idea, plus you get to unleash some of that pent-up aggression over certain individuals leaving messes all over the house again. Borrow balls from the school, meet in a public space, and it’s all profit.

Drink-A-Thon

Instead of getting people to pledge a buck or whatever for your kid to walk a quarter-mile, how about getting people to pledge money for each glass of wine or beer you drink? Some of the…more seasoned…moms would probably be able to raise the rest of the funds needed to build the new playground in no time at all.

And if you aren’t a drinker, then get people to pledge money for each glass of water or Coke you drink. You’re with other adults, kid-free, having fun, and raising money, so it’s a win-win situation.

Adult Fun Raffle

Some schools have Fundraiser Raffles where they get people and companies to donate all sorts of stuff, you buy a bunch of tickets, and then you put your ticket in the bag for whichever item you want. Some of the items at these raffles are neat, but others just blow. (Why the hell would I want to put my ticket in the $1 oven mitt raffle vs. the beach weekend raffle?)

At the Adult Fun Raffle, there will be no oven mitts, kiddie art classes, or coloring book sets raffled off. Gift cards for the local pub, babysitting vouchers, date night supplies, etc. will all be raffled. Baked goods — but not the kid-friendly kind — will be raffled. You get the idea. We’ll even let Karen raffle off the rest of her Pure Romance stock, and we’ll take her word for it than everything is unused.

See? Fundraisers really can be fun. Or at least not kill-me-now painful.

If you could come up with a fun fundraiser, what would you choose?


Good news on the book front — I finished the rough draft. Anyone who emailed me about being a beta reader for the book can expect an email soon with a PDF file of the book. If anyone would like to be a beta reader and hasn’t already gotten in touch with me, email dorkymomdoodles@gmail.com.

Update

I thought things would slow down when Little Man started school, but not quite. He is in a play and has been practicing three times per week in the evenings, and then all week this week, so that has eaten up a lot of “free” time as far as being home and getting things done goes. Not that I mind, of course, but I am super excited about the plays! This is his first time acting, and it’s been so awesome to watch him progress.

Also…I’ve been working on the book. I finally got bitten by the writing bug that I was hoping to be bitten by over the summer. I finished the first of nine sections on Monday, and then kicked it into a higher gear and am now done with the writing part. (Early mornings and late nights, so I’m running on fumes.) Of course, many stories are repeats (now I’m looking at roughly 35% new content), but the old ones had to be rewritten to a degree to make them tie together with the theme of each section.

Next comes editing existing doodles and creating new ones. Needless to say, things won’t be slowing down much. Not that I’m complaining, though, because I’m glad that the finish line is finally in sight!

After I finish it, I will need a few people to read it and give me their feedback. If anyone wants to do that, shoot me an email at dorkymomdoodles@gmail.com. It’ll be a few weeks or so before I get to that point, since I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to create a hundred or so new doodles overnight, but if there is any interest, just email me.

In case you’re wondering what the structure of the book will look like, I have it in nine chapters, with stuff like The Boy or The Struggle Is Real In Parenthood being the theme of each chapter. Two sections will consist of material that hasn’t been published on this blog before, and another section will be mostly new material. And the other six sections will be around 25% new material.

So…that’s where I’m at. I promise, I’m gonna catch up on the blog stuff one of these days! I always feel like an ass for posting something when I haven’t caught up on reading everyone’s blogs, but here I am anyway.

Now, everyone wish for Little Man to break a leg tomorrow night, since opening night is tomorrow! ❤

Liar, Liar

Recently my friend Lindsay, who blogs at The Sensitive Giraffe, tagged me in a post on Facebook about lying to your kids. She suggested that particular topic would make for good blog material, and she was right.

I know what some of you are thinking — “It’s wrong to lie to your kids! You poopyhead!”

To which I say —

Just kidding. Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll never know.

For the most part, I like to keep it real as a parent. Well, as of around 2017, I have liked to keep it real as a parent. Prior to 2017, I only kept it real for topics that didn’t make me uncomfortable. I mostly didn’t outright lie, but I did a lot of omitting the truth and skirting around issues. (Don’t forget to vote for me in 2020.) Nowadays, if one of my kids wants to know something, I make every effort to tell them straight up, regardless of how much I don’t want to answer the question.

For example, Little Man has asked me this at various times throughout the years:

How was I born?

Before I became a [Sorta] Super Truther, I’d tell him that he appeared . Later I mentioned that babies were sometimes born by C-section, and we happily watched a C-section video, since that is better than mentioning my vajayjay. (He wasn’t born that way, but it was okay if he made the assumption.)

After I became a [Sorta] Super Truther, I told him point blank that he was born by vaginal delivery and came out of my birth canal. And you know what? He didn’t bat an eye. There was nothing to be uncomfortable about at all. (Parenting pro tip: just be super technical with this stuff.)

So, Liar, Liar. I’m a fairly truthful mom these days about the things that matter. Baby making, puberty, the chances of seeing more than a couple inches of snow during a South Carolina winter…I’m truthful.

There are, of course, a few things I’m not at all truthful about, and that’s mostly a matter of convenience. Saying something like, “Lindt chocolate is for adults only,” might make me lose a few mom points when they discover the truth, but it’s pretty damn convenient.

Here are a few other situations that I may have fudged the truth in:

As I’ve established on this blog in an earlier post, my kids definitely know that when the bra comes off, their mom ain’t doing anything. And part of that is because — at some point — I led them to believe that I require a bra to function outside of the house.

Anytime I say “Maybe” when they ask for something or to do something, it’s pretty much a lie. The above pie chart proves this.

That blasted Steve Jobs.

This also works with their Gogurt, Goldfish, and graham cracker treats. For the record, this is by no means a regular occurrence, but it has happened. (After they look at you like you’re the parent version of Judas, you’d lie, too.)

Amazon doesn’t have it. Target doesn’t have it. The whole Internet has run out of it.

I had actually forgotten about that lie until Baby Girl asked me if Caillou was still sick one day. I blanked at first, and then she reminded me that I had told her Caillou was sick and couldn’t be on TV. He eventually got better. Unfortunately.

I don’t care if you are the most honest parent in the world and never lie to your kids, there’s no way you can judge me for the last one.

What’s one of your parenting lies?

Open House Bingo

Remember the Parenting Drinking Game? The one where we got to take drinks for things like the kids tattling or fighting?

Well, now there’s Open House Bingo! Simply keep this bingo card on hand and mark off squares for when certain events happen at Open House Night. At the end of the evening, you get rewarded depending on which bingo pattern you end up with. This game is guaranteed to make dealing with crowds, dodging sign up sheets to volunteer for doing all the things, and ignoring passive aggressive comments slightly less painful.

(Assuming you don’t have superhero vision, you can open this image in a new tab or zoom in to read the small words.)

(In case it isn’t obvious…you’ve got any five in a row, five diagonally, an X, four corners, and full card. For the love of God, if you get the last one, get the hell out of there.)

Based on past Open Houses, how do you think you’d do? Is there anything you’d add to one of these squares?

Parenting Music

I know what y’all are thinking — “Not another post about Daddy Finger!” No worries. When I wrote that title, I absolutely was not referring to the shitty songs that we parents have to listen to. Not even a little.

Instead, I’m thinking more along the lines of “Songs I’ve heard before that I never thought could relate to parenting, but actually do.”

And that is a mouthful for a title, so I went with Parenting Music.

There are a lot of songs that take on more of a deeper meaning when you have kids. Some of those are sappy, and we don’t do sappy on this blog (well, at least not today), so I’m focusing on the songs parents can relate to in more of a “This totally sums up parenting” way.

No Doubt – Don’t Speak

When certain individuals have talked for 20 minutes straight about Minecraft and I feel like my head is going to explode, this song applies. When other individuals have talked nonstop about which character from The Incredibles or Peppa Pig they want to be, or like the best, or want for Christmas or…you get the idea…this song applies. And when other individuals talk nonstop about Microsoft Excel and spreadsheets and Pivot tables, this song applies. Oops, the last one goes to my husband and not the kids, but still — DON’T SPEAK!

Don’t speak
I know just what you’re saying
So please stop explaining
Don’t tell me ’cause it hurts

It really does hurt. My head. It hurts my head.

DMX – Party Up

This should be every parent’s anthem. It’s perfect for any situation where the kids are acting like little heathens and you want to express how they’re making you feel without letting loose a string of cuss words.

A little side story to this one — before a few months ago, I didn’t know who sang the Y’all Gonna Make Me Lose My Mind song (as I called it) or any of the lyrics beyond the chorus. At any rate, I knew the hell out of the chorus for some reason, which I sang whenever the kids did something that made me want to drop four-letter words.

Little Man took a liking to that song, and I’m pretty sure he intentionally pushed my buttons at times to get me to sing it. Anyway, one day he asked about the song, and I told him that I didn’t know all of it and offered to look it up on YouTube for him. I typed in “Y’all gonna make me lose my mind” on YouTube, clicked an official looking video, and went back to whatever I was doing when my husband came in and about had a cow when he realized what LM was listening to.

For the record, the lyrics sound completely garbled to my crappy ears.

Well, no, of course not, but based on those few lines, how bad could it be?

He told me to pull up the lyrics. I did. Yikes.

Sting – I’ll Be Watching You

Y’all know how it is with kids. They are constantly eagle eyeing you, especially when you’re trying to sneak a cookie after you’ve told them no more junk, or are trying to check your texts after you’ve declared screens banned for the rest of the day. It doesn’t stop there with my kids, though. They’re straight up little stalkers. It doesn’t matter whether I’m on the toilet, asleep, or brushing my teeth, someone is usually there watching me.

It gets straight up creepy at times.

Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every poop you take
Every curse you make
I’ll be watching you

No, I’ll Be Watching You didn’t need a rewrite at all to be declared a parenting song, but I tweaked it anyway.

MC Hammer – U Can’t Touch This

What is it with kids touching everything? Even older kids can’t keep their hands off shit. Stop touching my phone, my snacks, and my toys.

Stop grabbing my tampons, my shampoo, and my pens. For the love of God, not the pens! I am very particular about the kind of ink pens I use (I prefer the Zebra stainless steel fine point pens or the Pilot Precise V5 pens), and they are always putting their grubby little fingers on them, which means they get lost. Don’t touch this!

Maybe if I adopted some of MC Hammer’s dance moves and sang out “You can’t touch this!” they’d be more inclined to stop. At least the older one would out of embarrassment, I hope.

Destiny’s Child – Say My Name

They say “the” is the most commonly used word in the English language. All parents know this isn’t the case when it comes to kids, though. Some variation of “Mom” or “Dad” is used at least ten times as much as “the,” and while it is often said in a way that can make your heart melt, it can also be said in a way that makes you die a little inside.

Say my name, say my name
The kids are always around you
Saying “Mama I need you”
Won’t you play another game
Say my name, say my name

Don’t say my name! Especially when you do it in a Feeny Call sort of way!

Bonus: Backstreet Boys – I Want It That Way

I don’t know which is worse, this song or the kids demanding to have everything Burger King style, but either way, the song is relevant.

The ultimate parenting version of the song:

Tell me why
Ain’t nothin’ but a headache
Tell me why
Ain’t nothin’ but a migraine
Tell me why
I never want to hear you say
I want it that way

Which song would you dub a parenting song after having kids?

How To Lose A Mom Friend In 10 Days

Who remembers that awesome romantic comedy How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days from the early 2000s? For those of you who didn’t see it, it had Kate Hudson and Matthew McSexy McConaughey and showed their two characters doing everything they could to drive away the other as part of a bet. (They ultimately fell for each other, of course.) I was thinking about this movie the other day when my brain did its thing, jumped to a dozen other things, and then came back to thinking, “How to Lose a Mom Friend in 10 Days would be funny…ooh, blog post!”

So here we are.

Do you have a mom friend in your life that you’re getting kind of sick of? Breaking up is hard to do, especially when it comes to “friends.” Being direct about this sort of thing is tough, and if they aren’t picking up on your Vaguebook posts, you might want to think about stepping up your game. Here are a few ways to say, “I hate you” and lose that mom friend in 10 days or less. (And, no, there will be no falling for each other.)

Buy Their Kids Shitty Gifts

Certain gifts are universally hated by parents. I found this out the hard way before I had kids when I gave a young child a Play-doh set for Christmas. His mom asked — in a not-so-joking tone — what she had done to piss me off. I was confused, since Play-doh is awesome, but I’ve since learned that many parents share her belief that Play-doh is the devil.

In case your mom friend is anything like me and actually wants Play-doh sets gifted to her kids, then consider buying something that is super loud and annoying. If the kid is a baby, this damn dog is pretty much the perfect “I hate you” gift:

Little Man had one of these, and I swear, the thing was possessed. It played music even after we turned it off. We both swear that we heard it making noise one night after we removed the batteries, too. Giving someone that dog will make them automatically reevaluate their life and the choices they’ve made.

If you don’t think Play-doh or toys like that damn dog will do the trick, then just give the kid a box of glitter. Fair warning — the mom friend you’re trying to dump may assault you over this.

Host a Crappy mom Night

I know what you’re thinking — “Why the hell would I want to invite Mrs. Annoying over to my house and spend more time around here?” It could work, though, if you do it right.

Promise a mom’s night that will put all other mom’s nights to shame. Sell the hell out of entertainment and booze. Who can say “no” to that (unless you live in the Bible belt like I do)? Obviously, though, your definition of entertainment is going to greatly differ from the typical’s persons definition of entertainment.

As far as booze goes, break out bottles of Boone’s Farm wine or Aristocrat vodka. Do not, under any circumstance, include mixer for that vodka.

Finger Roll Them

Okay, so Daddy Finger Rolling someone sounds weird as hell, but I think most of y’all probably get what I’m referring to. (Or maybe not, because I’m weird and often snicker at lame stuff that no one else finds funny…like maybe this whole post.) Remember the whole Rickrolling thing that was popular a few years ago, when people would trick someone into going to a YouTube video of Rick Astley singing Never Gonna Give You Up? (Little Man loves that song, by the way.)

One of the top priorities of the parent of a toddler is to keep them from seeing the Daddy Finger videos on YouTube. They’re awful, there’s no end to how many shitty videos there are, and the kids love them. They are the absolute fastest way to getting a migraine.

Text the mom when the kid isn’t asleep and tell them you’ve discovered an awesome new educational video that will make their kid’s IQ skyrocket. When she opens the link, the Daddy Finger song will begin blaring, and as long as the kid is within a 100-yard radius of the phone, he’ll hear it and come running. The mom will spend the next hour watching horrible video after video and will have to listen to the kid beg for it at least 10 times an hour for the next month.

Custom RingTone

If all else fails, there’s one thing you can do to make that mom friend know how much you want to break up with her without having to say it — give her a personalized ringtone. Go with something like Bitch by Meredith Brooks, Fuck You by Cee Lo Green, or Asshole Song by Jimmy Buffet. Tell the mom that the ringer on your phone is acting glitchy and ask her to call it so you can test it out.

If she doesn’t take the hint after that, then you’re stuck with her for life.


Obviously this is just a jokey post that no one would ever do (except use Aristocrat vodka because you’re a cheapskate), but if you were going to drive someone away, what’s a funny way you’d it?

Just Fix The Damn Sandwich

If you read the title of this post, then you know that I’m going to be writing about food. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, then you know that when I talk about food, I also have to tell you guys about all of my food problems first to set the scene, so to speak. Skip to the story if you know the spiel, or continue reading if you either don’t know the spiel or want to hear it again, because it gives you a little comfort knowing that no matter how weird you are, you’ll never be as weird as the dork with the blog.

I’ve been given a lot of titles in my life — daughter, sister, wife, mother, foul-mouthed bitch. Picky eater is another one of my titles. Always have been, always will be, I imagine. I do try to eat different foods on occasion (such as my husband’s amazing looking salad from Viva Chicken that had kale, avocado, onions, and beans). Unfortunately, no matter how scrumptious the foods look or smell, I have a tough time getting past certain textures, so I’m forever the weirdo who orders chicken nuggets at Mexican restaurants and asks for “double cheeseburgers without cheese” at certain burger chains that refuse to let me order in a normal fashion.

Despite my pickiness, there are a few things that I do like that others consider weird. One of those is the pepperoni sub, something I fell in love with when I was pregnant with Little Man. And let me tell you, that pepperoni sub was the bane of my husband’s existence during that pregnancy. In addition to the tear fests and demands for bags of Sonic’s yummy ice, I would regularly send him out to Jersey Mike’s for a pepperoni sub.

I know what you’re thinking — “A pepperoni sub doesn’t sound so bad. What’s not to like about pizza subs?”

This is where I tell you that when I say pepperoni sub, I literally mean just pepperoni and bread. No cheese. No sauce. No veggies. Nothing but pepperoni on sub bread.

Whenever my husband would go out to buy me these subs, he’d always get looked at like a freak, because it is apparently unheard of in the sub world for people to order subs with one ingredient on them. (I get treated like a freak when I order subs with only turkey and a bit of mustard, but it’s nothing compared to the judgment that comes with pepperoni subs.) He’d explain that he was buying them for his pregnant wife, which would get him a little bit of understanding, but they still thought it was strange, even as far as pregnancy cravings go.

With many pregnant women, their crazy pregnancy cravings go away after their wombs are evacuated, but that wasn’t the case with me. Even though I rarely eat them now because I’ll get ferocious heartburn, I still very much enjoy pepperoni subs.

Earlier this week, I took my son to see the new Ant Man movie. After it was over, I popped into the Firehouse Subs place for a pepperoni sub, since it had been forever and a day since I had one. This did not go well, which you’ve probably gathered from the title of this post.

I placed the order for the pepperoni sub and got this reaction:

I explained. Pepperoni. Bread. That’s it.

I’ve never seen someone look so confused since roundabouts started becoming a thing in the south. The cashier quickly tapped out and called over who I assume was the manager to handle me. He asked what I wanted and I repeated “A pepperoni sub. Just pepperoni on a white sub roll.”

No. Pepperoni. Bread. That’s all.

(By the way — this isn’t the first time a manager has had to be called over to handle my order. Check out the time I ordered a whole chicken by accident.)

He rang it up as a turkey sub, adding a $2 charge for extra meat. Whaaat? I’m only getting one ingredient on this sandwich and I have to pay more? Eh, whatever. I just wanted my sub.

There was much giggling while my sub was being prepared. I was asked no less than eight times if I was certain that I only wanted pepperoni on my sub. Little Man disappeared at one point. I figured he was embarrassed by his mom, but after we left and I asked, he hadn’t noticed a thing. Before I was given my sub, one of the other workers made one last attempt at getting me to put something on my sandwich.

She sounded legitimately concerned for my well-being. I can only imagine what was going through her head. “Is she off her meds? Is she of sound mind to care for the child who is with her? Should I call child and adult protective services?”

I briefly considered telling her that I was allergic to cheese and all of the other things, but I know that’s a douchey move considering how many people with serious allergies and sensitivities don’t get taken seriously, so I didn’t. After I told her that I was certain, she asked, “Well, you don’t want the pickle…do you?”

It made perfect sense that she’d assume I wouldn’t want that pickle, but I did, in fact, want the pickle.

When my sandwich was finally handed over, I left. There was no way in hell I’d have stuck around to eat it in there. I opened it up in the car, and my son, who claimed he wasn’t remotely hungry when we went in the restaurant, commented that it smelled good and asked for a bite. Being the little genius he is, he immediately recognized what a good sandwich it was and asked for half of it, which I gave him.

The confusion and giggling and likelihood that they’ll plaster a photo of me next to the register saying, “Do not serve this woman” was worth it. The sandwich was damn good.

On a side note, I told my husband that I should’ve left, gone down to Subway, and brought back my sub (assuming they’d make it without a hassle) and have a Pretty Woman moment. Show off my wonderful sub and tell them they made a big mistake. Huge. 😉

Just so you guys know, bacon sandwiches are awesome, too. Just add a bunch of bacon to a sandwich and toast it in a bit of bacon grease, and you’ve got the second best sandwich in existence. 

What is the weirdest thing you’ve ever ordered in a restaurant?

A Sneaky Little What?

Hello from the land of viruses, nasty colds, and migraines! Plus general busyness. I think everyone is mostly healthy now, so yay! Yuckiness aside, the past week has been good. My son landed a part in two plays he auditioned for (which most of y’all already know, but I’m still in proud mama mode), one of my posts was published on the Erma Bombeck site, HumorWriters.org, and my husband got our swimming pool open. Good stuff!

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, on to the funny…

We have a dog named Bilbo. We named him after a character from The Hobbit. If you haven’t read The Hobbit (or watched the movie), then you should know that the character is persuaded to go on an adventure with a wizard and a bunch of dwarfs to be a burglar, on account of him being small since he’s a hobbit. We are big Hobbit/Lord of the Rings fans in my house (to the point that I have three LOTR inspired tattoos), so Bilbo was the perfect name for the dog.

And it really was perfect, because that dog loves to steal stuff.

Before we got an invisible fence, Bilbo had free run of the neighborhood. (It’s a small neighborhood in a rural area, where other dogs have free run, too.) All of that came to an end, though, when he started bringing up stuff he’d stolen. At first it was a couple of balls, and then there was a beach towel, which wasn’t so bad, but then he brought up a wild goose, and that put an end to his freedom.

This didn’t stop Bilbo’s thieving ways, though. He has since turned his sights to food. He is super sneaky about it, too. For example, if a slice of pizza is on a plate with some other food, he can swipe it right off the plate without making a sound or knocking anything else over, which is pretty impressive.

Yesterday Little Man was eating a sandwich when the burglar struck again. He had it in his hand and was looking at something when Bilbo quietly sneaked up and took it. Little Man was surprised, but chuckled over it, and said the following:

Whoa! That was true (and hilarious), but whoa!

Now, as some of you have gathered from reading this blog (as well as those of you who know me in real life), I’m not exactly against using curse words. I try to be careful around the kids, mainly because I know Baby Girl would repeat them. Little Man has only dropped a curse word around someone once (in front of two preachers, sigh), but otherwise he knows better and will ask permission before using such words. So, even though “bad words” don’t bother me on any level, I was still surprised that he said that, since a) I didn’t realize he knew the word, b) he doesn’t drop such words without permission, and c) his sister was present.

(Bastard is one of those words that falls in the gray area for me, but if he dropped it at school, it would be a problem, so a bad word it is.)

Little Man was surprised by this.

I laughed and laughed over that. I explained that “little bastard” was definitely not a country saying, and something that he shouldn’t repeat at school or in front of his sister. I asked where he heard it, but he wasn’t certain.

Now let’s hope that Baby Girl doesn’t repeat this. She didn’t appear to be paying attention to any of it, so hopefully I won’t get any calls from the preschool in the fall reporting, “Baby Girl called a kid who stole her blocks a little bastard.”

(By the way, if you’re someone who likes to go on about how their kids would never say such words, this isn’t the place to post about it.) 

The Long Vomit

If you’re planning to eat anytime soon — or are eating at the moment — save this post for later.

It has been a week since my last post, but no worries — I have not succumbed to fingernail jaundice. I’ve been dealing with lots of puke and two parties, and the two were not connected like they would’ve been in my college days.

It all started at midnight on Wednesday (well, technically Thursday). I was sitting in the living room waiting for my husband to come home from a Willie Nelson concert when Little Man ran into the living room. His wide eyes darted around in a sheer panic. Before I could ask what was the matter, he raised his hand to his mouth, and I knew. He dashed over to the trash can, but before I could yell, “The trash can is full [because I don’t like stinky things and I’m waiting on your dad to get home and empty it],” it happened. Puke everywhere.

I once described one of Baby Girl’s vomiting sessions as being like the nasty little girl in The Exorcist, but Little Man put them both to shame. If projectile vomiting were an Olympic sport, I think he’d have taken home the gold. He covered close to eight feet of my kitchen (including the trash can, island, and stuff on top of the island) with his vileness, which took me 1.5 episodes of Parks and Recreation (which he started watching while waiting to see if his stomach was settled before returning to bed) to clean.

Forget the Long Jump, we’ve got the Long Vomit.

I was hoping that it was something he’d eaten, since we had Baby Girl’s birthday weekend coming up, but it wasn’t. Not long after asking Baby Girl where she wanted to eat that night on Friday morning (her answers included “a wedding” and “chicky chicka,” a restaurant she made up), she covered me from head to toe with vomit. I jumped in the shower while my husband ran a bath to clean her off when I heard a blood curdling scream. I stuck my head out to ask what was wrong.

(I really hope you guys took my advice and aren’t eating right now.)

That wouldn’t be the last time we were puked on, as Baby Girl had an aversion to throwing up in the bucket we kept nearby. She informed me that she didn’t like throwing up in it, but wanted to throw up on ME. Just…what the hell did I do in a former life to deserve this?

Thankfully, like her brother, she was over the worst of it in about eight hours, and we didn’t have to cancel her birthday plans for the following evening. She spent her last day as a three-year-old snoozing in my arms between throw-up sessions. The puke sucked, of course, but I really enjoyed holding her all day and evening. It was like when I brought her home from the hospital again, except for instead of weighing five pounds, she weighed 30.

The rest of her birthday weekend went well. She had a Justice League themed birthday party, which was great, outside of The Pinata Incident. (Let’s just say that one should probably not take apart a t-ball set and give kids the adjustable tee to use to hit the pinata, as the adjustable part can go flying and hit one’s husband.)

So long, toddler years — they’re officially behind us, since we won’t be having anymore kids thanks to the snip-snip-sniparoo. Baby Girl should probably get a new blog nickname at this point (and so should Little Man, since he’s not so little anymore), but Little Woman and Medium Size Man don’t have quite the same ring to them.