Happy Father’s Day: #MyDadChallenge

In honor of Mother’s Day last month, I created the #MyMomChallenge, where I asked my kids a bunch of questions and recorded their answers. Since today is Father’s Day (and since Eric at All In A Dad’s Work reminded me by doing his own), I’m doing the same Q&A with my kids for their dad.

And here we go…

1. My dad is _____ years old and weighs _____ pounds.

Little Man: 40; 200
Baby Girl: 5; 4

2. My dad is good at cooking _____ and is not so good at cooking _____.

Little Man: hamburgers; nothing
Baby Girl: pizza for you and me; I don’t know

3. If my dad were a superhero, his name would be ______ and his superpower would be _____.

Little Man: The Human Dad; taking people around the neighborhood
Baby Girl: Spiderman; shooting webs

4. And if my dad were a villain, his name would be ______ and he would use his evil powers to _____.

Little Man: The Hacker; getting on Facebook when his son is playing Minecraft
Baby Girl: Joker; do bad things to superheroes

5. I love it when my dad______.

Little Man: hugs me
Baby Girl: hugs me and kisses me

6. When my dad is driving, he_________.

Little Man: uses one hand
Baby Girl: holds on to the steering wheel and turns it like this (imitates steering)

7. I like it when my dad _______ and I don’t like it when my dad _________.

Little Man: plays video games with me; says “no screens”
Baby Girl: watches TV with me; be’s mean

8. My dad does not like to _______.

Little Man: wipe my hiney
Baby Girl: read me books when he’s working

9. My dad does ________ the best and _________ the worst.

Little Man: buying good watermelons; playing video games (I always beat him)
Baby Girl: cook fish sticks and cheesy tater tots; I don’t know

10. I’m thankful for my dad because ___________.

Little Man: He’s the best
Baby Girl: I love him

Those last two answers, though. All the feels.

Happy Father’s Day to all you dads/father figures out there! And a special Happy Father’s Day to my husband, who sets the bar super high when it comes to his daddy game.

Feel free to join the Q&A! I know Father’s Day is almost over, but don’t let that stop you from recording your kids’ answers. It’ll be nice to have these written down (or blogged) so you can repeat them each year and compare their answers. Even if you’re an adult, your dad will enjoy it. (My kids did a version of this as a Father’s Day card for their dad, and since I forgot to buy a card for my dad, I did the same for him, and he seemed to love it, even though I am 34.) If you do join in, please tag me or add the link to the comment so I can check out your post.

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Fuzzy On The Details

Between my drafts folder and the multiple notes saved to my phone, I have so many things I could write about on this blog. I often jot or type things down when inspiration strikes and then go right back to what I was doing, having every intention of fleshing out that idea later. I have 30 drafts saved on my blog with titles of a few words or so. I have at least another 30 topics saved on my phone. Yet I struggle to come up with a blog post that will dazzle you.

If you’re a fan of The Office, then you’re probably familiar with this Michael Scott quote:

Sometimes I’ll start a sentence, and I don’t even know where it’s going. I just hope I find it along the way.

That’s totally me when it comes to blogging. When I come back to many of those blogging topics later, I have often no idea where I was going with them at the time I wrote them down. And I stare at those topics and even attempt to write a few sentences about those topics, hoping that things will click and I’ll find where I’m going with it along the way. I usually don’t.

As you’ve probably already guessed, today’s post is going to be about the topics that I seriously don’t have a clue where I was going with them.

Cussing 100 yards, forget cleaning

I wish I had a clue what “cussing 100 yards” refers to, because it sounds like it would be funny. I’m certain that it doesn’t have anything to do with me hearing someone cussing 100 yards away, so there’s that. And “forget cleaning?” Well, I do that quite often, but why is it lumped together with the whole cussing bit? Am I the victim of autocorrect?

Sharing

Dear past me — be a dear and kindly expound upon your blog post topics, okay? Surely something bland and boring like “sharing” has to be connected with a funny story, right?

More bubble bath

I’ve got nothing. I can’t think of any situation in which one of my kids requesting more bubble bath (and I’m assuming it’s them, because my husband doesn’t take bubble baths and I usually don’t, because my allergies/asthma is very picky about soaps and stuff) would be humorous.

Your face is a vulca

Okay, so “vulca” has to be “vulva.” It has to be. Now if only I knew why I wanted to blog about vulva faces. Did Baby Girl call Little Man a vulva face? Because that would definitely be a step up from what she usually calls him — a meanie or a brat. (Gah.) Clearly I thought it was so funny enough that I’d remember all of the details of it later, but nah.

Bath water

This was on a separate note from “more bubble bath,” so I doubt they’re connected. There are a few things I could write about with something this generic, but nothing that strikes me as particularly interesting. I could write about the kids splashing water over all of creation from the tub, but…meh. I could write about Baby Girl drinking bath water, but…meh. Maybe that’s where I was going with it at the time I wrote it down and couldn’t see that it only had “meh” potential.

Theist spray

This is absolutely my favorite topic that I am clueless over. This one is older, so I know it absolutely isn’t related to when church people showed up on my doorsteps a couple weeks ago, when I hadn’t washed my hair in two days and wasn’t wearing a bra, but dang, it sure would’ve come in handy right about then. Surely I wasn’t planning on a bug spray for religious people, so what the heck was this supposed to be about? Or what the heck did autocorrect screw up and turn into something that makes me look like a heathen?

These are just a few of the topics that I have no idea where I was going when I wrote them down. And even on a couple of them that I have somewhat of an idea as to what I could be referencing, I’m still not sure how the hell I thought I’d get an entire post out of it.

Just so y’all know, this is pretty much every list I make. I used to not make lists, but then I started making them because I was told it would make my life easier. Ha. I’ll go into Target every so often and buy some Greenroom spiral 6×8 notebooks, which I use to keep track of all of my lists. And then I’ll inevitably lose one of the notebooks and start lists in a different one, and then find and lose another, and so on. Currently I have two notes on my phone plus pages of notes in three different notebooks for birthday party plans for Baby Girl’s party. When I try to take it all in and make sense of everything, I inevitably get overwhelmed and start a new list. The madness never ends.

Are you dazzled now?

WTF Search Terms

Full disclosure: all of these search terms won’t fall under “WTF,” but at least a couple will. Since “WTF Search Terms” was more likely to grab your attention than “Mostly Mildly Interesting Search Terms,” I went with it.

More often than not, the search terms that lead to my blog show up as “Unknown Search terms,” but occasionally, I’ll get to see the actual term someone searched for that led them to Dorky Mom Doodles. Most of them don’t even qualify as mildly interesting, so I won’t include those here, but there are a few that either made me chuckle, piqued my interest, or made me a bit confused.

Is this someone’s way of letting me know they’re mad at me? I imagine using “mom doodle” as part of a phrase would lead someone to my site, so tacking on “damn it” (or something like “jerkface that I hope breaks her thumbs”) would be a neat passive-aggressive way of letting me know they were ticked at me. Maybe that’s the case, maybe not, but I did search for this myself and found that I say “damn it” quite often, as this search yielded quite a few results leading to this site.

I can only imagine that whoever searched for this was hoping to find prices on meat and cheese trays, or maybe they were looking for recipes that required meat and cheese. I don’t know which blog post it led to for sure, but I’m guessing it was probably one where I talked about being a picky eater. Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure that they didn’t find what they were looking for.

I’d like to say that the person who entered this search term did indeed feel better after visiting this blog. Well, unless they’re fans of good drawings and sophisticated humor…in which case, maybe not.

This one has me curious. I’d assume that someone searching for “toddler poops in underwear” is either researching how to clean poopy underwear or how to keep the child from pooping in underwear again. The “superhero” part is what made me snicker. I wouldn’t imagine one would need to be that specific when researching this issue, but they were.

There is no question about which post this search term led to. Last year when I did my Calling All Dorks series, I doodled my blog friend Becca’s story about the creepy baby doll in her garage called Baby Howie. I absolutely love that Baby Howie is so legendary that someone searched for him on Google.

I’m including this one because I don’t have a clue how this actually led to my blog. True, my Spanx post is one of my favorites, but spanx is a pretty big thing that tons of stores sell. How on earth did someone wade through that many pages of search results to make it to this blog? For the record, I skimmed over five pages of search results before I called it quits. I saw lots of spanx for sell, a mention of spanx on NPR, and something about Kim Kardashian accidentally flashing spanx, but nothing about a dorky mom wearing spanx.

Carding dorks…is that like making sure that dorky looking people are really 21 or older before giving them their booze? When I searched, I found stuff that confused me because SQL was mentioned. I decided that I’m okay with not knowing what, exactly, “carding dorks 2017” is and why it led to my blog. I don’t want to expend too much brain power on a Friday, after all.

This is the kind of term you hope to get when you check your search terms looking for interesting stuff. Randomness! Penis reference! Oddly specific! I looked this one up and it’s not as interesting as it seems — it’s a reference to line from a movie called Heavy Metal. I did not figure out which post the person was led to, which is a bummer, because I’d totally like to know where I referenced something resembling talking about letting my dork hang out.

What interesting search terms have led to your blog?

That Time I Wanted To Be Like Buffy The Vampire Slayer

There was a time when I wanted to be like Katniss Everdeen. There was another time when I wanted to be like Lance Armstrong. And yet another time when I wanted to be like Meg Ryan. If you’ve read those posts or at least somewhat know me, then you know that none of those attempts went well. And before all of those mishaps, there was the time that I wanted to be like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is one of my all-time favorite shows. (And curse you, Netflix, for removing it and taking away my instant access to the Scooby Gang.) I love the story lines, the dialogue, the kick ass female roles, the wonderful, witty Joss Whedon brand of humor. And Angel — oh my. Aside from what happened to Joyce Summers, there wasn’t much to dislike about that show.

In 1998, my dorky high school freshman self had one goal, aside from marrying one of the Hanson brothers — to be like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. This was rather problematic, though, as we had nothing in common —

I was not to be deterred, though. (And not being deterred is basically the root of all of my mishaps.) One day I was flipping through a magazine when I saw my Buffy connection: her signature black boots. Well, boots that looked like her signature black boots, anyway. Those went on my Christmas list that year, along with requests for various band t-shirts, a combination safe, and the Buffy the Vampire Slayer soundtrack. I later realized that a black leather jacket would help pull off the Buffy vibe, so I added that. I briefly considered adding a crossbow to the list, but figured that wouldn’t fly.

(For the record, I’ve since made plans to purchase a crossbow, but my husband vetoed it. He thinks it wouldn’t end well. Party pooper.)

I didn’t get the jacket (I purchased that on my own later) or the combination safe, but I did get the black boots, soundtrack, and some other stuff. I was happier than a kid on Christmas. Oh, wait! (Yeah, that was corny.) After we finished opening presents, I dashed off to my room to try on the $40 fake leather high heel boots that came up just a few inches below my knee. After I zipped them up, I stood up, looked down, and admired myself.

Dorky pajamas + slayer boots = high fashion.

I know what you guys are thinking — you only wish you looked this cool in high school!

Or not.

Naturally, my next step was to parade myself back to the living room and show off my boots. And this is where things got dicey.

So, in addition to not being very coordinated, I had also never worn high heels, and the heels on those boots must have been three inches. Attempting to walk in heels when you’ve never done so and aren’t coordinated results in walking like you’re drunk, and this is the sort of thing that really cramps the style of an aspiring vampire slayer.

After some stumbling around, I made it back out to the living room, showed off the boots and mentioned how much I liked them, and went back to my room, where I took off the boots and silently fumed over how much I sucked at walking. (The lack of walking abilities still causes me to fume 19 years later.) Throughout the rest of Christmas break, my routine was to put on the boots, practice walking, throw them in the back of the closet in a fit of rage, and repeat.

Considering that I still walked very much like a drunk in my boots, the smart thing to do would have been to not wear them out in public, right? Trying telling that to 15-year-old me. When the first day of school after winter break came around, I was determined to show off my boots. Much like Rudy believed in himself, I believed that somehow, if I had my chance to show off my boots, that I’d do them proud. My feet and legs and sense of equilibrium would magically come together and I would carve out my place in history.

Since we lived at the end of a really long driveway, my grandmother would drive us to the end to wait on the bus in the mornings. When she saw me stumbling in her back door, she suggested that I wear my sneakers. I insisted that I could walk just fine — a phrase I would come to repeat quite often during my rum drinking sessions as an adult — and kept them on.

When the school bus rolled up, I slung my Eastpak backpack over my shoulder and tried to walk up to the bus as smoothly as possible.

And then I had to go up the rather steep bus steps. This is where things went south:

Yep, I fell up the bus, so to speak. After I got up and got myself together, I did a short walk of shame to my seat, where I tried to ignore the snickers and guffaws, and told myself the rest of the day would go better.

It. Did. Not.

I did make it off the bus, but I stumbled all over the halls of that damn high school. Wearing those high heel boots to school is probably one of the top regrets of my life, right behind getting the same haircut of the chick with the short hair from the first season of Survivor. (Y’all, I had serious haircut issues back in the day.) At the end of the day, when it was time to go home, I made it up the bus steps without falling again, but I’m sad to say that I didn’t make it back off in the same fashion:

The boots were put back in the box. They were rather scuffed, so there was no way I could take them back, either. Over the next few years, I’d dig the box out every so often and put them on, hoping that I’d magically be able to walk in those heels, but that never happened. Eventually the box disappeared, and I assume that my grandmother must have donated them to Goodwill.

Let’s all take a moment and raise a pretend glass for my dead slayer dreams.

Who did you idolize in high school?

No, That Isn’t A Popsicle

If you’re reading this post, then the Dorky family is officially on vacation! We’re going on a cruise, so I’ll have limited access to Internet over the next few days. Since I won’t be creating any new posts, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share some of my early posts that most of you likely haven’t seen.


Originally posted in April of 2017…

My kids go by the “what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is also mine” rule.

My food? Also their food, even if I have the same thing that they have. My radio? Obviously theirs. My Playstation? Well, you get the picture. I say “no” sometimes, but “yes” is far more prevalent since they’re a) my offspring and b) cute. (My husband, though? You better bet that “no” accompanied with other not-so-nice words happens when he tries to get a bite of my steak or swipes one of my ice-cold Cokes.)

I’m used to sharing, but there’s one thing that I thought would remain mine and mine alone, for at least a decade, and that’s feminine hygiene products. However, since both of my children are like dehydrated people in deserts who see mirages of water everywhere in cartoons, the kids see candy everywhere and have tried to make me share my Aunt Flo-inators as well.

Note to Baby Girl: this is the first red flag that you need help with your popsicle addiction.

Now Little Man won’t think the fact that he’s called me “Mommy” is the most damaging thing I’ve posted online anymore.

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Reasons The Toddler Is Pissed

If you’re reading this post, then the Dorky family is officially on vacation! We’re going on a cruise, so I’ll have limited access to Internet over the next few days. Since I won’t be creating any new posts, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share some of my early posts that most of you likely haven’t seen.


Originally published in May of 2017…

If you look up “temperamental” in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure that you’d find a picture of a toddler next to it. Maybe even my toddler.

Oh, wait…

How about that? I wasn’t exaggerating after all!

True to the definition of temperamental, one minute Baby Girl is happy. The next she’s mad. Sometimes she’s mad over the reason that originally made her happy, which is confusing as hell and makes the whole “navigating parenting” thing much more difficult. Other times she’s ticked off for reasons that should never tick anyone off, ever. And, occasionally, there are times when she’s pissed for reasons that are beyond me.

Here are a few of the reasons she might be mad on any given day —

I have four younger brothers and sisters, so I get #1 — I completely understand what it’s like for a look from a sibling cause someone to see red. I don’t understand why, but I do know that it happens and isn’t just a Baby Girl thing. Even worse than looking at each other is looking at an object the other sibling is playing with/using with interest — this causes a reaction akin to road rage in children.

And for the record, with #3 — we’re talking about milk that has been sitting out for maybe ten minutes. The cup is still cool to the touch. I’m not a monster who makes kids drink warm milk. Cold milk is gross enough to me, but warm milk? “Disgusting!” to use Baby Girl’s new favorite word.

I mostly don’t get the others on that list. Especially #4. Who wants to go around wearing a shitty diaper? It makes her butt red and itchy, which she also complains about. Use. The. Potty. (And use it regularly enough that I can say stop saying “potty” in a sweet, high-pitched voice that is supposed to make you take interest in it.)

What are some funny things your kids get mad over?

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or Bloglovin.

The Buns And Guns Challenge

If you’re reading this post, then the Dorky family is officially on vacation! We’re going on a cruise, so I’ll have limited access to Internet over the next few days. Since I won’t be creating any new posts, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share some of my early posts that most of you likely haven’t seen.


This was originally posted in May of 2017. For the record, I never completed the challenge…

I don’t have buns.

I don’t have guns.

And I most certainly don’t have abs.

But, I am told that I could have these things if I complete a 30-day challenge called Buns, Guns, and Abs Challenge. Considering that my rapper name is Fluff Mama and that I’m too heavy to fly like Wonder Woman, I’m pretty sure that no 30-day challenge will make these mythical muscles appear, but stranger things have happened.

My husband is the one who asked me to participate in the Buns and Guns Challenge. (I think we can all agree that the challenge sounds better when you leave out the word “abs.”) We’re attempting to lose weight make better lifestyle choices, and part of that includes doing things that the Couch Potato Olympics Committee frowns upon — moving.

Not moving equals happiness to sloth-like creatures.

A couple days ago, my husband approached me about the challenge. After talking about exercises and muscles for a few minutes, which I mostly tuned out, he told me, “The first day is easy. And then it goes up a little in intensity each day. Want to do it with me?”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, without one iota of enthusiasm. I really just wanted him to stop naming muscles, plus he did say that it started out easy.

Easy.

Ha.

I’m 33. By now I’ve been around the block enough times that I should know that any time I think, “That sounds easy enough,” that it won’t be. Baking brownies out of the box — easy, right? Unless you’re me. Tying a basic braid in my daughter’s hair, walking, parking in an empty lot, and applying eyeliner also aren’t easy. Despite my best efforts, my body is determined to make me look like a spaz whenever possible.

On the first night of the challenge, my husband told me that I had to do ten squats, ten push-ups, and ten leg lifts. That really does sound easy. It should be easy. I thought, “Yeah, I got this.” A few squats later, I found out that I definitely didn’t have this.

Before getting pregnant with Baby Girl, I did a HIIT workout while trying to lose weight. (If you’re not the math sort, Baby Girl is almost three, so between that and 9 months of pregnancy, that means that the last time I did this was almost four years ago.) Anyway, I killed the squats back then. But not that night. My thighs and knees — which are certainly used to getting up and down all day long — betrayed me.

My legs were like…

Admittedly, this looks more like I’m dancing a jig than doing squats.

(Since I started writing this post and completed another day of the challenge, my husband has pointed out that I was doing the squats wrong and was doing them in a way that made it more difficult. Doing them right was easier, so that makes me feel a little better.)

Next were the leg lifts. They seemed pretty easy until my husband told me to lift slowly, hold my legs in place, and lower them slowly — apparently flailing your legs all over the place doesn’t count. Doing them right involved using my nonexistent core muscles, so after five of those, my core was like…

The last part was push-ups. I have always sucked at push-ups, even when I was at a perfectly normal weight (as I discovered many years later) and fairly athletic. My arms just do not like pushing up my body for some reason. They don’t like pulling up my body, either, so chin-ups in gym class back in the day didn’t happen much, either. Heaven forbid I fall face first into a pile of snow one day, because I guarantee that unless my body gets one of those “lift the car off the child” adrenaline rushes, I’ll perish.

As you’ve probably guessed by now, the whole time I did those push-ups, my arms were like…

(Despite my history with push-ups and my arms cursing me, they were the easiest part of the challenge on that day, so maybe all that hauling around Baby Girl has done my arms some good.)

When we were finished my husband pulled out his phone and showed me the rest of the challenge. He told me that by the end of 30 days, I’ll be able to do 100 squats, 40 push-ups, and 100 leg lifts. We’ll see. For the record, we won’t see in 30 days, since I’m sticking with day one for a few more days to work on my form, so maybe in 100 days we’ll see.

Want to participate in the Buns and Guns Challenge? Knock yourself out. (Also, zoom in, because I started writing smaller halfway through for some reason.)

So, are you in? Or do you want to retain the right to make self-depracating jokes about your fluffy body?

Want to connect on social media? You can find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. You can also vote for me as a Top Mom Blogger here

Female Instruments Of Torture

If you’re reading this post, then the Dorky family is officially on vacation! We’re going on a cruise, so I’ll have limited access to Internet over the next few days. Since I won’t be creating any new posts, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share some of my early posts that most of you likely haven’t seen.


Originally published in March of 2017…

We always hear about how rough childbirth is. For sure, it’s no walk in the park, but usually it’s the one or two or three days of your life where the pain factor was high, and you walked out with a little bundle of joy, so that kinda balanced things out, right? Let’s talk about the day-to-day pains (physical or otherwise) that are pretty damn bad that a) don’t leave you with a bundle of joy and b) don’t make you elated in any way.


The first one — underwire. OMFG. I know we’re supposed to avoid wearing bras with underwire for reasons I can’t think of (legit reasons, not “I’m afraid I’ll be stabbed and slowly bleed to death” reasons), but they’re more comfortable and supportive for me, so I do. It’s all good in the neighborhood until the wire that’s giving me a bit of form gets pissed off at all the work it’s doing and snaps. And then it’s like a drive by with a tiny sharp wire in my sideboob with every step I take until I free myself of the cursed contraption. I wouldn’t prefer labor with Little Man over the underwire, but I’ll take the C-section pain from after the spinal wears off over having to spend a day being stabbed by underwire.

And that brings me to epillators. I bought my first (and last) one a couple weeks ago. It was supposed to make my legs smooth for weeks, remove certain facial hairs that I don’t wanna bleach but want gone, and basically turn me from a 3 into about a 4.5. Lies, y’all, lies. Maybe I’m just doing it really wrong, but as far as I’m concerned, epillators are akin to medieval tools of torture. I have a high tolerance for pain, but I could only stand a few minutes of that. I want to box it up and send it back and leave a review calling it modern day torture, but they probably wouldn’t take it (and ew, would they resale a used epillator?). 10/10 I’d rather give birth to both kids again than shave both legs and other areas with that thing.

Hot wax. Hot not. Let me state for the record that the only thing I’ve ever had waxed is my eyebrows. Based on that, I can only imagine that ripping off hair in other areas would be godawful. Is it epillator bad? I don’t know and won’t be finding out just for the sake of this blog post.

Ain’t no flow like Aunt Flo. This one should go without saying, but look, it’s an angry uterus that looks like the Kool-Aid man ready to throw ovaries at you! As far as pregnancy comparisons go, I will say that some of these cramps have been every bit as intense as contractions. Not always, not often even, but it has happened. So, periods have their own torturous aspects. Plus, having to pay money for pads and tampons every month over the course of 40 or so years is a torture in its own right.

Crappy movies. Some of y’all will disagree with me on this. I know Lifetime sometimes shows legit movies, but when I’m flipping through, it usually isn’t. There are titles like “Who Killed Jenny’s Dad?” “Jenny’s Dad Returns: A Haunting” “The Face on the Milk Carton: The Untold Story of the Mysterious Disappearance of Jenny” and “Double Haunting: Ghosts Dad and Jenny Terrorize Mom.” Or something like that. You know how everyone says watching certain kids’ cartoons, like Peppa Pig or Spongebob, is torture? Well, Lifetime is about ten times worse. One day the kids are gonna find out that channels like Lifetime and Hallmark exist and are gonna want to know why we talked all that smack.

Laundry mountain. Maybe I shouldn’t be directing my hate at washing machines. After all, all it does is stand there. What I should be directing my frustration to is the individuals in my home who toss clean clothes in the hamper; the individuals who puke all over everything; the individuals who can’t go a week without spilling drinks all over. But, nah, I love my family, so I’ll hate on the washing machine and the laundry mountain that it eventually creates, and then cry online about having to fold everything being like delivering triplets with no medication. (Just kidding.)

So, torture…if you’re really pissed off at me, a great way to get back at me is to make me watch Lifetime movies while folding clothes while wearing a bad bra while on my period while you apply hot wax to one leg and go after the other with an epillator.

So, what would you add to your list of things that you find torturous? And men, what makes you go, “This is worse than a cold”?

Want to connect on social media? You can find links to my accounts at the top of the menu bar on my page, or go here for Facebook and look me up on Instagram and Twitter with the handle “dorkymomdoodles.”


 

Top 5 Songs For Migraines

If you’re reading this post, then the Dorky family is officially on vacation! We’re going on a cruise, so I’ll have limited access to Internet over the next few days. Since I won’t be creating any new posts, I thought I’d take the opportunity to share some of my early posts that most of you likely haven’t seen. I’ll catch up with comments and your blog posts when I get back.


Originally published in March of 2017…

For a time as a parent, I didn’t have to listen to crappy music. (My husband would say, “Wait, that’s not true because you love Hanson,” which I’d ignore while pitying him for not embracing their greatness.) When Little Man came along, we didn’t play much kiddie music. We stuck to our Beatles, Radiohead, Ben Folds, Weezer, Hanson (obviously I’ve got to mention them again), etc. He loved it all and we didn’t have to listen to cheesy crap sang in high-pitched voices, so all was right in the world. Even the music for the TV shows he watched was tolerable.

All was good in our parenting world for about six years, and then things changed.

Baby Girl came along. While she likes some of our music (especially Radiohead’s No Surprises, which has been on repeat every night for much of the past two and a half years), she prefers the cheesy kids’ songs. Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Five Little Monkeys. If You’re Happy And You Know It. Apples and Bananas. Itsy Bitsy Freaking Spider. And, despite having a playlist for her to shuffle through those songs, she usually picks one and wants it on repeat for the entire car ride. I get kinda road ragey as it is, but after the tenth time of listening to Itsy Bitsy Freaking Spider, all it takes for me to start cursing under my breath is for someone to put their signal light on at 90 feet out instead of 100 feet.

And then there are the songs or theme music on shows on YouTube and TV that both kids like. I liked the music on Thomas and Friends, Sid the Science Kid, and The Cat in the Hat Knows A Lot About That. The current shows they both watch? For the most part, just no. God no.

Aaaand, thanks to the newish car with satellite radio, Little Man has discovered Kidz Bop, also known as Music Hell. Kidz Bop is where they take popular music and ruin it. Much of the popular music is kind of bad already, but then they take it and make it worse with the crappy singing and such. And Little Man, the child we once bragged about for having excellent taste in music, loves Kidz Bop. (To be fair, he still likes a lot of great stuff, but Kidz Bop has tarnished his reputation.)

I’ve compiled a short list of songs that are driving me nuts right now. It could be longer. A lot longer. But there’s the matter of my laziness and the fact that y’all probably don’t want a doodled list of 1841 songs that are driving me nuts, so I cut it to five.

What song is likely to give you a headache if you have to hear it again?

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