#AtoZChallenge: ‘V’ is for Valentine’s Day

Yes, we’re more than two months past Valentine’s Day, but I’m going to go with ‘V’ is for Valentine’s Day anyway.

Today’s doodle comes from my and my husband’s (well, then boyfriend’s) first Valentine’s Day together. We’d been together for close to a year at the time. I wasn’t really sure what to expect, since we had both talked about our dislike for commercialized holidays, but let’s just say that what happened wasn’t something that crossed my mind.

On Valentine’s Day, I came home from school (I was a junior in college at the time) and went to my room after chatting briefly with my grandmother. I stood next to my computer desk to lean over and turn the tower on, and when I stood up, I noticed someone coming out of my closet out the corner of my eye. I’ve had terrible anxiety for a long time, and someone breaking in and killing me was always something I worried over. It was happening.

Anxiety is a bitch, but my, what it does for one’s imagination.

I let out a blood curdling scream worthy of a second-rate horror movie.

So long Frankenstein face, hello terrified face.

And then my brain registered that it wasn’t a murderous criminal hiding out in my closet — it was my better half.

“That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for he said,” he told me, handing me the flowers. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

I felt rather embarrassed over this, but then again, who wouldn’t be freaked out when she notices a man coming out of her closet?

My grandmother popped in about that time, laughing. “I knew that’s what was going to happen when you said you wanted to hide in her closet and surprise her!” she said.

“Well, why didn’t you say that?” he asked.

“Because I thought it would be funny,” she replied.

Gee, thanks. Give me a heart attack all for the sake of your own amusement. I guess she was getting a little payback for all those years of me being a dumb kid and doing the same.

Do you have any stories of where your partner had nothing but the best intentions, but things went wrong in a hurry?

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Can We Just Stop With The Glitter, Already?!

If you’re wrapping gifts or sending Christmas cards that have glitter on them, you need to stop.

Seriously, STOP.


You know what it tells me when someone does the glitter thing? That you hate me. That you want to drive me freaking insane. That you should join the Taliban. That you’re an evil person with no heart.

Glitter is the evil gift that keeps on giving all year. No matter how hard you clean or dust off your clothes, it doesn’t completely go away. In fact, it multiplies. Don’t ask me how glitter procreates, but I’m almost certain that it does.

There has been a piece of glitter somewhere on my face or eye for the past two days that I can’t find. I know it’s there, because when the light hits it a certain way, I can see it glimmer in my peripheral vision. (It’s gold, BTW.) But when I look in a mirror, I can’t find it. (No, I’m NOT crazy…or not in the imagining glimmering light type of way, anyway.) It’ll go away enough, I’m sure hope, but it’s draining me of my Christmas spirit.

I’m officially putting everyone on notice —

If you give me something with glitter, I’m not going to be your friend anymore, and if you’re family, I’ll disown you. I’ll still love you, but I’ll remove you from the Favorites list on my phone and/or I’ll scratch you off my family tree. This is saying you don’t like The Office level bad.

I’ll also get you back. It might not be tomorrow, next week, or even next month, but make no mistake — I’ll exact my revenge. I’ll go buy ten pounds of glitter and throw it on your car after it rains. I’ll slip glitter in your shampoo the next time I visit. I may even go Carrie style and fill a bucket with glitter and rig it to dump on you when you open the door to your home.

Get it? No. More. Glitter.

And with that, Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, everyone. Make your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be glitter-free.

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer From Hell

Prior to this year, I’ve never been very good at the Pinterest stuff. I’m not sure why this year has been so different, but I’ve had nothing but wins with everything I’ve attempted. Yay, me. In the past, though, everything I’ve attempted has looked like utter garbage. For example, check out the time I tried to make a dollhouse for Little Man. Hint — mine is on the right.

And since the doodled version doesn’t do the real pictures justice, here’s the real deal:

screenshot-2016-12-09-at-1-11-32-am

Last Christmas season, my husband was looking at stuff online and came across a recipe for Rudolph pancakes. He got all excited about them and decided to made them for the kids. When he finished, he came over to the desk where I was working asked to borrow my phone to take a picture of the pancakes.

Look at Mr. “I hate Instagram people who take pictures of their food” now, I thought, smirking.

I handed over the phone, but didn’t get up to look at the pancakes because I was busy at the moment. After he brought the phone back to me, with the picture still open, I quickly became unbusy after I saw his Rudolph.

Here it is:

Baby Girl was watching me do this post and said the one on the right looks like a scary monster. She isn’t wrong.

Holy neckbeard, Batman!

And, again, since the doodled version probably doesn’t do the real version justice, here’s the real deal:

I could not stop laughing. I spent the better part of two hours getting fits of giggles over those things. “Rabid” and “zombie reindeer that will eat Baby Girl” were a couple of terms people used to describe it after I shared it everywhere.

To add to the funny, my husband didn’t get why I was laughing at first. Neither did Little Man, not until I pulled up a picture to remind my husband and show LM what the pancakes were supposed to look like. And then we all howled with laughter, except for Baby Girl, who didn’t give a crap because she had chocolate chips and high fructose corn syrup in front of her for supper. (Coincidentally, it took her a solid 2.5 hours to go to sleep that night. I’m guessing part of that was karma getting at me for laughing so much.)

I’m kinda thinking that terrifying Rudolph should be in a few doodles of his own…

In case you want to make the Rudolphs and not have them look all sinister, it may help knowing that my husband blamed it on having purchased the wrong canned whip. He bought Cool Whip in a can over Redi-Whip. He thinks that had the Cool Whip not melted as quickly, that his Rudolphs would’ve looked perfect. I didn’t say a word.

Have you ever made food that turned out looking like something that would suck out your soul?

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I’m All About That Turkey, ‘Bout That Turkey, ‘Bout That Turkey

My Facebook feed is full of people talking about Thanksgiving. Either they’re listing what they’re thankful for, posting recipes that they plan to make, or are talking about how they can’t wait to eat. My husband hasn’t posted to Facebook, but he’s already talking about the various foods that he plans to gorge himself on at the three Thanksgiving meals we’re attending.

All the while, I’m like —

Food-wise, Thanksgiving is about one thing for me — fried turkey. I’m sure a lot of y’all are thinking, “Yeah, I can’t wait for turkey, either!” but when I say that Thanksgiving is about one thing for me food-wise, I mean that quite literally.

I’m a picky eater. I’m so picky that it’s much easier to list the foods that I do like than list what I don’t like. I like about three vegetables, your standard meats, and processed crap (which I’m trying to stay away from). I don’t do mushy foods, foods with lots of textures going on (I keep trying, though), foods heavy on the spice…the list could go on. As such, Thanksgiving isn’t such a big deal for as far as food goes like it is for everyone else. (For the record, yes I’m thankful for stuff, and yes I enjoy the family time…as much as an introvert can enjoy interacting with 60 people in one day can, anyway.)

Just so you know, I cook plenty of stuff that I don’t eat. In fact, two of the things that I’m famous for making are things I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole — macaroni and cheese and cheesecake. So, my family doesn’t go deprived because of my lack of a diverse palate. All that creamy cheese? Blech. Cream cheese taste? Blech. (Nothing hurts my soul more than seeing yummy dessert videos from Tasty and then seeing them dump all the cream cheese into whatever they’re making.)

With that I give you doodles of my husband’s Thanksgiving meal vs. mine.

My husband’s plate:

My plate:

Probably not foodporn.

I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I have the saddest Thanksgiving plate ever. They aren’t wrong.

You’re up…what’s one food you love and one food you hate that’ll be served at Thanksgiving?

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The Bleeping Tooth Fairy

There are many ways that I have failed at parenting.

I once forgot to put a filling in Little Man’s sandwich. Yep, my underweight child was sent to school with two slices of bread as his lunch entree. Christmas and birthday gifts have remained hidden for months following the events. There was the time that I floated the idea of carrot sticks for a post soccer game snack.

And then there’s the Tooth Fairy. The <insert all the bad words here> Tooth Fairy.

First, a little backstory…

When we had Little Man, my husband and I had the whole mythical characters discussion. You know, “Do we want to sell the whole Santa/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy?” thing. For the record, this discussion ranks up there with discussions on whether one parent should quit their job, vaccinating, and college football team allegiance. It’s important.

We had our discussion and decided against Santa and the gang. I’m struggling to remember if it was a matter of not wanting to lie to our child (something all young, naive parents say they don’t want to do) or if we were just lazy assholes. Probably a bit of both.

I’m gonna go off on a tangent for a moment and tell you that if you ever tell a kid’s grandmother that you aren’t planning to do Santa, be prepared to be looked at like you’re the devil. At first she’ll squint her eyes and give you a look, wondering if you’re making yet another joke she isn’t getting. When she ascertains that you’re not kidding, she’ll lean in a little and sniff the air around you. She’ll make out like she has a sniffle, but it’s really about trying to detect booze on your breath. Because clearly drunkenness is the only reason a parent wouldn’t want to do Santa, right?

When she rules out jokes and booze, then she’ll move on to dropping hints that CPS will be called in the event tons of presents from a non-existent person (one that should be charged with B&E) aren’t given.

So, yeah, we do Santa Claus. (A modified version.)

We also put out baskets on Easter, because if you don’t put out baskets of chocolate on Jesus’s day, then surely you’re Satan. Little Man knows that there is no Easter Bunny (does any kid really believe in that?) and that getting treats isn’t what Easter is about, but we still have fun.

I did not expect to have to do the Tooth Fairy. Not even a little. Little Man questioned whether Santa was real when he was three because he didn’t think the story made sense. (We usually flip the Santa question back to him and he has continued to go along with it so far.) He knew the Easter Bunny was fake. But lo and behold, some kid in school loses a tooth and tells Little Man about the magical miniature being that leaves video games, cash, and toys under your pillow in exchange for your tooth. And he said he believed that.

The First Tooth

I can’t remember the circumstances surrounding Little Man losing his first tooth, but what I do remember is losing it. I don’t know if I accidentally threw it away or if I dropped it and it rolled under something. Whatever it was, I couldn’t find it. So as not to ruin the experience of losing his first tooth, I made a fake tooth out of popcorn.

Apparently teeth are like baby birds falling from their nests — if anyone else touches it, it will be rejected and die. Or, in the case of Little Man’s tooth, it will be rejected by the Tooth Fairy and he won’t get any loot.

Little Man didn’t bother the “tooth” and we later exchanged the popcorn for some cash. Crisis averted.

The Second Tooth

I didn’t lose this tooth, but I also didn’t have any money to leave under his pillow. After debating on leaving an IOU, I decided to borrow from Little Man’s piggy bank for money to put under his pillow. That was probably one of my low points as a parent, robbing my child to leave money from a fake fairy that collects children’s teeth.

Mommyburglar

The Third Tooth And Beyond

I’d love to be able to tell you that after losing the first tooth and not having money for the second tooth, that we learned our lesson and did better. But I’d be lying. There have been a couple of times when we pulled off the Tooth Fairy without a hitch, but mostly we screw up. I’ve lost more teeth, I’ve had to borrow more money from Little Man, and I’ve forgotten to make the switch.

That’s what happened with the most recent lost tooth. Little Man lost a molar minutes before his soccer game. He gave it to me to keep in my pocket, and miracle of miracles, it made it home. He put it under his pillow and woke up Sunday morning to find it still under his pillow. Crap.

My husband halfheartedly made up an excuse for the Tooth Fairy, but the boy wasn’t buying it.

“I don’t think the Tooth Fairy forgot so much as the parents forgot,” Little Man told my husband.

Burn.

That night Little Man put his tooth in a box at the foot of his bed so the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t have any problems. The next morning he found that his tooth had been traded out for three bucks.

“Look what the Tooth Fairy brought me!” he told us, showing us the money.

Yeah, right.

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Mother’s Day Part One

I hope everyone had a nice, relaxing Mother’s Day yesterday (or a nice Sunday). My husband cooked me some of my favorite things (steak and bacon), plus ran a bubble bath for me and took the kids out of the house so I could enjoy it in peace, so I was a happy girl.

My family got me a few presents for Mother’s Day yesterday. One present has yet to be delivered, but my husband showed me a picture (so it counts) — an air fryer. This is cool because a) we can enjoy fried foods for less calories and b) I won’t risk burning the house down again trying to fry stuff. (There will definitely be a post for this one soon.) I was also given a gift made by Little Man that will get a post all of its own. And then there was an awesome gift that made me geek out — an R2-D2 measuring cup set.

The set looks exactly like an R2-D2 toy while assembled.

It comes apart into measuring cups and measuring spoons of varying sizes. Rather than attempt to draw a butchered looking R2-D2, you can view the real deal here.

I had barely taken R2-D2 out of the gift bag when the kids began clamoring over who would get to hold him first. Because obviously, the recipient of the Mother’s Day gift wouldn’t have dibs. And when they realized that he comes apart, well, all hell broke loose.

Apparently my kids’ arms do the Stretch Armstrong thing when they’re fighting over something.

Thanks, guys.

The next time my husband and I do any gift giving, we’ll have to make sure we give the non-boring gifts in private.

As a little bonus, I’m going to close this with a doodle from Little Man. He saw me drawing the R2-D2 and drew C-3P0 on his tablet to go with this.

How was your weekend?

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Happy Mother’s Day, Indeed

As much as I joke around about the kids’ clinginess and stuff, Little Man and Baby Girl really have a love for me that just blows my mind at times. I could do a post about Mother’s Day expectations vs. reality or one about the shenanigans my kids have been up to today, but I’ll save those for later and focus on the sweet stuff.

Little Man is a total mama’s boy. Always has been and, hopefully, always will be.

All. Nine. Realms. I want that on my tombstone.

And now for the toddler…

Yesterday I asked Baby Girl if she knew what tomorrow was, and she asked if it were a school day. I told her that it’s not (and won’t be for another three months — it’s going to break her heart when it sinks in that there is no more preschool for that long), but that it was going to be Mother’s Day.

“It gonna be Mudder’s Day?” she asked.

“Yep.”

She wrapped her arms around me and said, “You the best mudder I could have.” I didn’t think she had an inkling what Mother’s Day is, so to hear all that made my heart extra melty.

Yeah, poor Daddy.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you mamas and to anyone else who fills that role.

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#AtoZChallenge: W is for Wonder Woman

For Baby Girl’s first Halloween, I wanted all of us to dress up like characters from the Justice League or Star Wars. The family that nerds together — whether the youngest can comprehend what we’re dressing up as or not — stays together, right? (That didn’t happen then, since some individuals were non-compliant, but we did do a superhero theme for this past Halloween.)

When I was discussing Halloween costumes with the six-year-old Little Man back in 2014, I mentioned that I might dress up as Wonder Woman — and by dressing up, I meant wearing a Wonder Woman t-shirt and maybe a tiara. No bikinis or skirts or anything else form-fitting for this fluff mana.

Like many young kids, Little Man didn’t have much of a filter and would sometimes say anything that popped in his head. He also tended to take things very literally at times. (Both are still true to a degree, but he does try to be more careful about blurting things out.) As such, my Wonder Woman costume was shot down.

Well damn. No Lasso of Truth for me and my non-gravity defying derriere.

He did offer an alternative solution though:

This pleased me, since my son thought I was badass enough to go as the Dark Knight. I’m not the biggest Batman fan, but I will admit that his coolness factor is up there. That moment didn’t last long, though, as he followed that up with:

Thanks, kid! I guess a grappling hook would have been out of the question, too.

(For the record, when I did dress up as Wonder Woman this past Halloween, there were no objections.)

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