#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.

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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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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