Tuesday, November 24, 2015

What It's Like To Have Four Kids: Life As a Poker Game

Afternoon Readers,

How are you guys?

Good, good. Things are here are... going.

Let me start by saying that Little Miss is doing really great. Super healthy. Super cute. Better eyebrows than me. As far as being a stellar human being, she's got all the boxes checked. But let's have some real talk for a second. Lest everyone here thinks I have everything under control, I'd like to issue this PSA:

I don't. Dear Lord, someone throw me a life raft or a really sturdy pool noodle.

Just like every other time I've had a baby, Nature miraculously comes in to perpetuate the human race, very pointedly erasing any and all memory of the very steep learning curve that comes with adding a new person to the family.  Oh, don't get me wrong, it's totally worth it, but when you're the everyday person with no nanny, butler, private chef, or someone to launder and fold all the yoga pants, and a budget that didn't relax at all while you were in the hospital, yelling, "More pie!".....

Jesus take the wheel.

I don't like using the term "shit show" very often because it always rings a little crass, but if the shoe fits, tighten those laces and go for a run. Admittedly, now that we're almost two weeks in to our new routine, things have settled down a bit, but for the first week, Life and I were playing serious game of poker, and, surprise, I wasn't the winner at the table. For instance, even though I'd just had a new baby, the other kids still needed to go to school.

Me: Ok, I just have to get three kids dressed, lunches packed, and get everyone in the car on time.

Life: I'll raise you one baby who needs to be changed and fed ten minutes before you have to be at school.

Me: You're bluffing. I just fed her an hour ago. I'll see your hungry baby and raise you one mother making sandwiches while she mixes a bottle with the other hand, just in case.

Life: Oh, look. I only need two cards. I'm not going to show you what they are, but I pretty much have this in the bag.

Me: Obviously, you can't show me, but if one of them is a toddler who just had an accident and the other is a little girl who can't put on her shoes because her feet hurt when she looks at them, I may have to fold.

Life: They don't call this high stakes for nothing. It's cute how you're trying to keep a straight face. Are you trying not to laugh or cry?

Me: Ha! Like I'd tell you. Ok, I'm going all in with a Percoset for this incision that's burning like dry kindling, a cup of coffee, and a novena to all the saints in heaven that I don't keel over and die.

Life: You sure you want to do that?

Me: I'm never not sure about coffee.

Life: Ok, but one of the twins just tried to start the car, the other one can't even find his shoes, the toddler is prostrate on the floor, crying hysterically about a juice box you didn't give him yesterday, and the baby just pooped again.Did I mention the furnace is on the fritz?

Me: Way ahead of you. I already called the repairman.

Life: But he won't be here until Tuesday. Good thing you noticed all that left over baby weight in the mirror this morning. You're going to have to hug the children and warm them with your own body heat for the next three days.

Me: There's literally got to be anyone else to play this game with.

Life: Nope.

Me: What?


Me: What is it?

Life: The toddler just dropped the clean bottle into the filthy side of the sink.

Me: I fold.


There you have it, folks. Things around Kellerman house are going, but going slowly. I know I'll get the hang of this new gig sooner rather than later, but let's just hope I have enough pain killers and coffee to weather the storm. I may not be winning every day, but there's always a chance someone will buy me a life raft for Christmas.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here?  
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Monday, November 9, 2015

Late To the Party

"Oh, Janice. It's so delightfully plebeian how you buy your Manwhich cans one at a time."

Afternoon Readers,

I haven't checked in for a bit, but I've been waking up for days in a universe where the Royals have won the World Series. My brain's still trying to process the amazingness of the whole thing, but as Husband's been waiting for this moment for pretty much his entire life, we're soaking in the experience and planning on naming the new baby World Series Kellerman.

It's the right thing to do.

Speaking of Kellerbaby, the countdown stands at only one day until she gets here. That's correct, we're finally at the very end, and I'm eager to waddle towards the finish line. Free pudding, people waiting on me, and watching whatever I want on TV for three days? Yes, please. It also means some uninterrupted blogging time. Who wants a live report on just how the cafeteria gets the jello-to-whip-cream ratio just right? Where they store the 100% cotton hospital gowns? I'm on it.

Before I can head to the hospital, however, my brain has been in overdrive, trying to check everything off my to-do list.

Bills paid sort of time? Check.
Toilets cleaned. Kind of.
Shopping for things I don't necessarily need?

The last one needed to be addressed. Luckily, my sister stepped in to remedy the situation. "So, you want to go to Costco with me?"

I nodded. "Sure. I've never shopped there."

Dead silence. "Um, get your shoes on so you can join the rest of civilized society."

Yes, I live under a rock. But, even so, I'd heard of Costco. I just never shopped there for whatever reason. It was the final punch on my suburban mom card I'd yet to earn. Which was sad, because I only needed one more click and I could turn it in for a free infinity scarf.

"Ok, here's your card. You show it to the doorman and remember to give it to them when you check out. Easy."

I pocketed my new piece of white plastic and nodded back at my sister. "Great power. Great responsibility. Holy crap, is that a three-foot-tall case of salmon?"

She motioned toward the giant doors. "You haven't seen anything yet. Try not to hyperventilate when we get to the cheese."

For the three of you who've never set foot in a Costco, I can only describe it as a giant warehouse filled with wonder and super-sized cases of the ethereal. It's not a place where ordinary servings of chips dwell. Oh, you just want one package of bagels? Shut up, and get the hell out. You better have your hand on the 150 count bag or forget about bagels forever. It's cute you even thought you liked bagels before. Show some dedication. The five pound tub of cream cheese is to your left.

At first glance, it's easy to think the huge cases of pretty much everything you've ever had a food dream about are over-kill. But that's only until you see the prices.

"Hey, it says these are 3.99."

My sister nodded ."Yep, you wanna head to the bakery?"

"But there are seventy-five Pigs In a Blanket in here."


I shook my head in disbelief. "That's a ridiculous amount of pigs to stuff in a box. Maybe we should tell someone. It has to be a mistake."

"It's not."

"But what if it is? That's enough hot dogs rolled in dough to feed royalty. All for the price of half a car wash. Someone could be tagging all this stuff wrong."

She placed a gallon of cider in the cart. "All of it?"

I looked skeptically at a box of eighty quiche for five dollars. "All of it. This whole operation could just be a front for funding illegal arms trad- Oh my gosh."


"That ham's only ten cents a pound."

Now that I'm thirty-one, there are so few things that excite me. Heading to a club at 11pm? Pass. Memory foam bath mats for ten dollars? Treat yo' self.

"It's so soft."

"Paige, it's a bath mat. Why are you rubbing it on your face?"


"Mmm k'. Maybe we aren't ready for the non-food items."

Oh yeah, did I mention Costco sells things like coats? Right next to the five dollar pumpkin pies. I'd say it's completely unnatural, but.... America.

Once you're sucked into the experience, there isn't time to think, only that brief span of time where you're wandering ridiculously wide isles, muttering things at strangers like, "But if I buy the leggings, how will I bring home that 2000 count box of fruit snacks for the children?" That is, if you can even find your way back to any offspring you left at home. By the end of the trip, everything was relative. I stopped an elderly woman perusing  seventy packs of croissants.

"I need your honest opinion."


"If I traded in all three kids I already have, do you think I'd have enough credit for that new refrigerator and two of these sheet cakes?"

"Honey, I don't know."

"But you have to know. That one comes with cream cheese filling."


"It's fine. Go back to your rolls. Don't forget the chicken salad. Aisle ten for four bucks. Wait.... are you having like half of France over for dinner?"

It's imperative you bring a lifeline. If I'd happened to wander into Costco without someone to pull me back to reality, there's a good chance I would still be there, either living under a stack of goat cheese or figuring out how to drag a new fire pit to the parking lot and Tetris-ing it into the van.

My sister patted me knowingly on the shoulder. "Ok, we have to go."


"I know it's hard to not want to build a fort out of the thousand-count diaper boxes-"

"You don't know my life or what I need."

"But if you don't move you don't get lunch for a dollar fifty."

"I think I just had a heart attack."

So, I totally get it now.  I get the appeal. The cases of everything. The cheap hot dogs. If this is what my thirties bring, then sign me up and put my face on the id. Because I'll be going back. Probably a lot. After all, if I'm going to cash in my suburban mom punch card, I can't think of any other place that will sell me infinity scarves at three for ten dollars.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here?  
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Until Next Time, Readers!

Monday, October 19, 2015

The Beer Is Now On Sale!: And a Big Giveaway!

Morning Readers!

Well, today is the day.

No, still no baby.

But what better way to get my mind off the fact I have three weeks left to waddle around and not fit in my car, than to release a new book and give stuff away? Ok, maybe cookies work too, but I'm leaning heavily on the giveaway option.

If you didn't grab a copy on pre-order, that's totally fine! The Beer's Folded and the Laundry's Cold: Mostly-True Adventures In Housewifery is available today for Kindle, Nook, and Paperback. What's it about, you say?

In “The Beer’s Folded and the Laundry’s Cold: Mostly-True Adventures in Housewifery,” Paige Kellerman follows up her hilarious debut--“At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles”—with the natural next step—taking on budgeting, babies, and trying to keep the day drinking down to a minimum while staying at home.
At the core, it’s a story of a woman who worked in an office and didn’t, instead working on trying to make money stretch like a two dollar pair of panty hose, upping her fashion game to include occasionally wearing pants, and using dull childproof scissors to cut out coupons and wads of gum from her kid’s hair.

This hilarious follow-up is not a “how-to” on being the perfect parent, but rather a tale of one woman running the house like a boss—that is, when she’s not scraping failed Pinterest-inspired experiments out of the Crock-Pot, filling the bird feeder and waiting for rogue squirrels to stop by and steal all the food, or inhaling the smell of a laundry sheet like a Snuggle-scented sedative.

In other words, she’s got this “housewifery” business down—and continuing to crack readers up.

Great question, Bob. No need to bid on a showcase here, Readers. I've got three prize packages ready, and it doesn't require you to bet on what the value of a jet ski is.

3rd Place: I'm giving away FIVE free ebook copies of The Beer is Folded and the Laundry's Cold. (Kindle or Nook, totally your choice)

2nd Place: The runner up gets a signed copy of The Beer's Folded, a signed copy of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles, a signed copy of The Big Book of Parenting Tweets, and a signed copy of The Bigger Book of Parenting Tweets. This giant book package comes with Beer bookmarks for all copies.

1st Place: The Grand Prize Winner gets the whole haul. Which is...
  • A $25 gift card to Amazon, so you can get a jump on the old Christmas shopping
  • Signed copies of all books listed in the second place package
  • A $20 credit to the FABULOUS online jewelry shop, Penny Jules
  • Bookmarks
  • An adorable "Books, Snacks, Crumbs" tote bag to tuck everything inside of
All you have to do is enter the handy, dandy Rafflecopter below, and you've just given yourself multiple chances to win some The Beer is Folded swag. So get to it, and have an awesome week in the meantime. I'll just be over waiting for someone to load me into an over-sized Radio Flyer wagon and drag me to the hospital.

(Please Note: This contest is open to US and Canadian residents only. However, if you live outside those two countries, you're still eligible to win one of the five, free ebooks.)

Until Next Time, Readers!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, October 16, 2015

Books, Babies, and A Dollar Store Halloween

The Munsters were great at pumpkin placement and always had everything figured out. Smoky booze included.

Afternoon Readers,

Ok, I'm finally getting organized. My life is in order. Everything is as it should be.


I like to give myself those pep talks in times of high stress, crisis, and when I figure out I forgot to buy coffee the day before. I majored in English, but I also have a minor in false hope. Things happening right now:

1. The Beer's Folded and the Laundry's Cold hits shelves on MONDAY!

(Tune in for a BIG giveaway and so many free pairs of cankles, you won't be able to fit in your shoes.)

2. I can barely walk because I'm carrying a baby that may weight fourteen pounds. Need definitive data, but almost 100% sure of this. Almost thirty-seven weeks and beyond ready to waddle to the nearest hospital. Just give me a gown, a wheelchair, some free pudding, and get out of my way.

3. I decided right now would be a most excellent time to paint the built-ins in the living room. Because nesting has taken the form of Bob Villa, apparently. I have no urge to clean the bathrooms or organize baby clothes. I want to sheet rock something. Or prime it. Or possibly renovate a bathroom. Whatever. Does anyone have a jigsaw I can borrow?

So, when I'm not stressing myself out with self-imposed deadlines and projects, the fact remains I still have three other children who are adamant about celebrating every holiday that is about to be upon us. Halloween is no exception. Leading with, "But I've gained forty pounds and can't drive you." doesn't stop kids from shoving you towards the van and demanding spooky decor, stat.

"We need bats and pumpkins and skeletons and gravestones."

When we were all in the car, I decided on a last ditch effort to waddle back inside. "What if mommy lets you paint some some old Tupperware with scary faces and then we can pop some candles under them?"

"That'll start a fire. Our teacher told us starting fires is dangerous."

"Right. Don't tell her I said that."

Due to the amount of children now in my care and the sheer volume of things they were intent on dragging home, I made the quick decision the dollar store was the only place equipped enough to enable us to buy three hundred paper pumpkins, pay our taxes, and avoid any further involvement from the IRS. I checked the sign before we barged through the door like a small, Viking hoard.

"Ok, everything is, in fact, a dollar. Now, kids, I want everyone on their best be-"

But they were already gone.

I waddled through the swinging, glass doors as fast I could and looked around frantically. I cornered an old lady. "Excuse me, have you seen children who look like they're out for fake blood? One of them may have tried to poke you out of the way with a Styrofoam sword."

There was a flash of movement on my right. I spun around, just as the three-year-old barreled toward me, arms full of plastic cups in the shape of black cats. "Mom, we need these."

"Fifty of them?"


"But they say, Happy Hallowon. The detailing on the whiskers is good though."

Sundance popped up from behind a display of glow-in-the-dark socks. "Ok, do we need one of these rubber bats or twenty?"

"Two. Wait, one. Check for a specimen that has both wings. Hold on, those might actually be two-for-a-dollar squirrels that got stuck to some wrapping paper."

While I waded through a sea of paper pumpkins and garlands of spider webs, the other twin bounded down the isle with trick or treat bags. "Ok, I got one for everyone, and then we filled them with all the stuff we want."

Hesitantly, I peeked inside. "I admire your spirit, but do we really need eight boxes of spider rings and five skulls?"

"WE need to be scary."

"Honey, we're terrifying already. What if, on Halloween, I just open up the van doors and let everyone see what it looks like inside? The neighbors won't be able to sleep for a month."

It was too late. After their bags were full, all three kids charged into the bowels of the store, intent on seeing what else they could drag behind them to the cash register. By the time we made it up to the woman at the front, I'd adopted toothpaste, a new set of measuring cups, candy, two sticks of beef jerky, one plastic basket for socks, a six foot paper mummy, seventeen pumpkins, a bat with both wings, sippy cups shaped like cats, and some taffy that mysteriously tasted like soap.

"That'll be eighteen dollars."

"That's it?" Shocked, I took out my card. We'd picked up a lot of crap, but I'd forgotten it was cheap crap, and that felt good.

The lady smiled and handed me the receipt. "Good luck gettin' that baby out. You look ready."

I nodded. "I'm more ready to have this baby than find places for all these pumpkins. Where does one strategically place seventeen, paper gourds?"

"Happy Halloween."

I waved. "Happy Hallowon."

Later that day, Kellerman house was thoroughly decorated for the holiday. Bring your bags and your costumes, because we're giving away all the candy around here. And, if you're lucky, I may even send you away with some complementary, cardboard gourds.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Oh That's Just My Thirty Year Collection of Boots Monthly

"Ya know, Janet,  if we'd just ordered those coffee mugs shaped like pit bulls, we wouldn't have to whittle our own out of this dead tree.

Afternoon Readers,

Obligatory countdown: I'm now thirty four weeks and pretty much ready for the baby to be here yesterday.

Moving on.

I've noticed, lately, that time has a strange quality of speeding up or slowing down at will. For instance, the time it takes to feed the children dinner and get them to bed is, roughly, three thousand hours. But since moving in to the new house last December, the months have pretty much flown by. I blinked, and it's been almost a year.

Things that have changed:

No more wallpaper
Fireplace painted white
Trimmed back trees before we re-created the scene from Poltergeist where all the branches punch through the windows and try to kill everyone

Things that haven't changed:

Vinyl flooring in kitchen is still peeling at the edges, giving us special hiding places for any extra retirement money.
Gutters need to be cleansed of leaves. Per the rain last week, I'm almost sure we have no drainage off the roof, but watching the kitchen window turn into a miniature Niagara Falls was compelling on both an emotional and aesthetic level.
We're still receiving eight hundred magazines a day for the former occupants.

The last item on that list bears addressing, mainly because it's one of the most fascinating phenomena I've ever witnessed. Let's examine.

January 10, 2015

Me:  Wow, did you see this? The mailbox was packed. There must be magazines from twenty different companies here.

Husband: Ehh, I'm sure they'll change their forwarding address pretty soon. And I think that's more like fifty different magazines. Wait ...does that one say it's for train enthusiasts over sixty?

Me: Knock yourself out.

Present Day

Absolutely nothing has changed.  As far as I can tell, the former and only owners of this house spent most of the last three decades subscribing to every magazine, catalog, and glossy insert they could get their hands on. The previous ten months have been a veritable parade of tchotchkes, western wear, mugs, and those of us ready to aggressively pursue a life of leisure, dressed solely in matching wind suits and high rise orthopedics.

Did you know...

There are magazines for cats
Publications for floor mats
A twenty page bi-fold for Christmas hats

Some have shoes
And some only sell socks
I've gotten eighty issues from a place that strictly vends cuckoo clocks

Sweaters for dogs
And decorative fruit
If you buy two, you can get a free hazmat suit

Beach wear for skinny
Beach wear for fat
We know you got the one about Christmas wear, but don't forget about beach wear for cats

Ok, I'll stop there. And I promise no more poetry, ever. I blame my third cup of coffee before 11am. But still, things have gotten pretty ridiculous. Did I say ridiculous? I meant terrifying.

At first, everything headed to the recycle bin. Every day, two pounds of trees would head back into the great circle of life, and I felt like I was doing my part. But, slowly, I'd catch myself sipping coffee and looking over what not buying things on the internet had to offer. This pastime was merely a innocent hobby.

A catalog dedicated entirely to garden gnomes? Yeah, I'll bite.

Oh, so I can buy clogs wholesale and completely cut out the middleman? Interesting.

Hmm, but how does one structure fifty pages of product around sundials shaped like dachshunds? I'll just take a peek.

Without realizing it, I'd fallen down the rabbit hole of ordering by mail and guessing my size based on an attached chart the size of an index card glued to the centerfold.  Of course, that was when I wasn't scanning the quarterly issue of One Size Fits All! Christmas was coming. Mug Life Styles wanted to know if I was ready.

Husband walked in just as a small seed of panic set in. "Hey there."

I threw my copy of Collectible Curiosities at him. "I really need you to decide."

"On what?"

I thumbed back to page five. "If you'd like the floor mat of the cat saying, "Hang in there." or if the coffee pot shaped like bike handlebars is more your speed."

"Neither. Wait, what is all this stuff?"

Shrugging, I flipped to the book lover's section. "You know, the more I look at the selection, it's really quite charming. Did you know I can get my mom a set of twelve Edward Gorey place mats?  For fifty bucks, all of our extended family can have pepper grinders for Christmas."

" I don't thi-"

"I just have to decide whether to order the ones personalized with their last initial or the gold plated kind with Wayne Newton's face embossed on the front."

"Or we could throw this in the recycle and move in the direction of gift cards."

"Help me. Please."

It's a good thing I have Husband to intervene when I get certain ideas in my head. He's a constant voice of reason, especially when I'm ready to petition the Sears catalog for a slipper/robe set that matches the paint job on my van and a new set of plow mules. At any rate, I don't anticipate actually ordering anything from the plethora of publications which continue to bombard our new home ...but, if it does happen, would you guys rather have a plate shaped like a banana leaf or an angora jumpsuit for your cat?

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Rookie Mom In the Drop-Off Line

I pick up my kids in the family jet, because I'm not a peasant.

Afternoon Readers,

You know what makes life great? Suspense.

Right now, I'm thirty-three weeks along and eagerly waiting to hear if I have gestational diabetes.

I've actually had three tests already, but as my beautiful, chocolate-brownie-loving body can't decide whether it's slowly breaking down, I get to head in for more evaluation and the possible threat I'll be eating celery until I show up at the hospital, crazy-eyed and drooling.


Luckily, I've had a plethora of things to distract me from any impending and unwelcome dietary changes. Yes, my nesting instincts are starting to kick into high gear, but even more demanding is the overwhelming need to understand the in's and out's of becoming a fully functioning school mom. How I even became a mom old enough to have kids in school is beyond me, but it's happened, and my urge to blend in is strong.

Please don't read the above as, "My urge to blend in is strong, so I get up, shower, put on makeup, and lovingly distribute bento boxes chock full of sandwiches in the shape of puppy faces."

No, I'm really just trying to figure out what time things start and the proper way to waddle through the cross walk, without losing momentum, sitting down, and waving the cars around me. The principal said she's only allowing one of those and refuses to drag me to safety again. I'm sure there are many, many other things I'll need to get the hang of over the next few months, but, so far, this is what I've observed about the drop-off and pick-up process at school.

The Top Seven Things You Need To Know To Survive When Dropping Off or Picking Up Your School Age Children  

1. Pull Forward 

It's really cute how you thought you'd navigate your Toyota Sienna to literally any place along the curb in front of the school. After all, there are the doors. Your kids need to go through the doors to get to the learnin'. 


Pull forward, damn it. All the way to the end. Nope, keep going until you can't see the school anymore. Follow that yellow line painted on the sidewalk, until your children see you disappear and think they've been abandoned to be raised by school staff.

You're actually nowhere near school anymore. The teacher must now hike to your minivan with the determination of someone who's going to climb Mount Everest in socks and a tank top. Knees to chest. Knees to chest.

2. Never Cut Anyone Off

I haven't done this myself, but there's a careful protocol for merging into the pick-up line after school. Last week, I watched two overzealous moms cut me off, instead of heading to the back of the line, in the attempt to pick up their kids three minutes before me.

It was blatant disregard for the sacred you merge/I merge tango all of us parents had been practicing relentlessly for four weeks, carefully embracing this Strictly Ballroom version of our lives. All of us wanting the trophy.

No sooner had I started sulking into my Cheetos, when a teacher barreled out of nowhere, knocked on the offenders' windows in turn, and gave a speech about common decency, taking turns, and possibly remembering to wash your hands after using the bathroom.

I promised myself I'd never be on the receiving end of that grey bowl cut and iron clad admonishment.

3. Kick Em' Out

The first rule of drop-off: kick your kid out of the car as soon as humanly possible. You may have carried them for nine months, but Susan McRange Rover behind you doesn't know that and needs you to keep it moving. She didn't even slow down as she launched her Timmy and Jimmy from a rocket launcher she keeps under her seat.

She's got yoga at eight. She also just drove over the back of your car and down the hood.

4. Round Em' Up

In the same spirit as sending your kids off for the day, it's also critical you be able to herd all of your offspring into the car as soon as possible. If they're old enough to just jump on the running board and hold on to the antennae, even better.

Is everyone clinging to a headlight? Let's go!

5. Timing is Everything

If you get to pick-up an hour early, you'll be waiting for thirty minutes for your kids.
If you get to pick up thirty minutes early, you'll be waiting thirty minutes for your kids.
If you get there when school lets out, you have the crappiest position in line but, thankfully, it'll only be thirty minutes until you pick up your kids,

6. People Watching

The pick-up line comes with a standard cast of characters. I enjoy every, single one of them and worry when someone is missing:

Mom who had to leave beauty pageant early to go pick up her kids
Dad with really cool car he likes to polish while he's waiting
Mom who ran eight miles with a jogging stroller uphill
Mom who takes picture of kid exiting school, every day (Presumably, this is for an upcoming YouTube documentary, A Batman Back Pack For All Seasons.)
Hot dad who may not be a dad, because you never see him with a kid, but could be peddling Axe body spray to the front office
Pregnant mom who stares too long and can't reach the Cheeto that fell under the glove compartment

7. Relief

Every day, I'm excited to see the twins when they get out of school. They make it through the day, and all is right with the world. As soon as we get home and I detach them from the running board of the van, I make sure to kiss them, tell them I love them, and enjoy the time we get together.

After all, tomorrow I have to tell say goodbye, again, and catapult them to enlightenment before someone drives over the hood of my car.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Like what you read here? Buy some Cankles
And if quick bathroom reads are your friend, grab The Big Book of Parenting Tweets: Featuring the Most Hilarious Parents on Twitter!
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on:

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Cover Sneak Peek

Afternoon Readers,

Nope, haven't had the baby yet, but I thought today would be the perfect day to give you a look at the other project I've been working on for nine plus months.

Things are coming together, y'all.

A book will be born.

Mark your calendars for October 2015. New reading material and candy corn in the same month?

I know. I can't believe it either.

Until Next Time, Readers!