Thursday, August 29, 2013

There's A Chance I Might Win Something


"Now that you mention it, I did win that "Knit a Scarf For A Hamster In Under A Minute" competition a few years back."
Morning Readers,

I'm taking a break from watching Sundance dress up in my maternity clothes from last summer to share some exciting news.

At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles just might win something.

I know what you're thinking. Why are my maternity clothes just sitting in a tub by my bed? The attic. It's a long trip, and Rubbermaid containers make great sidetables.

Oh, the book.

Well, at first she didn't want to enter, but, "Book," I said, "Book, I'm going to enter you in this contest because I believe in you. And also because I have no idea what I'm doing."

She went on to explain how it was a little narcissistic, but when she thought about it, the publicity could be good, and, as long as her cover was displayed in a size that didn't make her look fat, she was ok with it.

You know, you write something, and then it turns out it's completely ungrateful.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Excuse Me, Waiter...

"I usually take mine with a little cream and sand ...but not too much sand."
Afternoon Readers,

I'm not sure if I ever mentioned it, but my dear companion, Mr. Coffee, died suddenly a while back.

Exactly. If that can happen here, it can happen in you house too.

I'll let you process your shock quietly before we move on.

Breathe.

Now then, like most large, coffee-related changes in my life, it was tough to grapple with. Since kicking cigarettes (No applause, please. Every day is a day I try desperately not to spark a rolled up Post-it note with "Camel" scrawled on it simply to get a hint of the experience), coffee has been the Universe's way of feeding my fix. So, a reliable coffee machine is most importante to my existence.

Enter, Black and Decker.

What?

Friday, August 23, 2013

2013: A Dryer Odyssey

After Bill suggested she start drying clothes outside, Marlene began to wonder whether the line was strong enough to tie up a full grown man.

Afternoon Readers,

Well, the bets are in, and in the race to break first, the dryer beat out the van, the other car, and microwave by a long shot.

Don't worry, all other appliances are still putting in the effort to quit working, but we're really proud of the washing machine's soul mate for biting it before either one of us could say, "Did you time the dryer to run all night without stopping?"

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

What I Was Up To Yesterday


Afternoon Readers,

I'd like to quickly mention that when the settings get messed up on one's TV, if the language has been switched to French, it's ten times harder to fix the problem.

So, yeah. I'll just be over here eating frosted animal crackers and lamenting the twenty minutes of my life I'm never getting back.

But, I didn't pop in today to tell you about electronics. Why would I do that, when I can give you advice about things I know nothing about?

Yesterday, I got the chance to join a panel of moms on the local morning show. So, if you're in the market for getting advice about sending kids back to school from a person who has no kids in school...right this way.

Until Next Time, Readers!




Monday, August 19, 2013

Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up and Beat Kindles

My Kindle didn't have a face, but if it had, maybe it would've looked like Emily Dickinson.

Afternoon Readers,

I've said it before and I'll say it again, the minute you become a parent, accept that all your stuff will soon be broken.

It's not all bad. For instance, when you own absolutely no worldly possessions, you no longer have to choose between sitting on the couch or sitting on the love seat. The children un-stuffed both of them last week, so communing with the floor it is.

It's a simple life filled with shirts with buttons missing and side tables with no decor.

Just kidding. You don't have side tables either. Sacrifices must be made to keep the integrity of a nice game of "Climb the Mountain: If you fall, you get left behind edition."

Thursday, August 15, 2013

To My Friend


Morning Readers,

While Sundance is occupied banging a stick against the porch and Butch is flushing the toilet for the third time (note to self: check to see if bathroom is flooded), I'd like to take a quick time out to say something about my friend.

If you don't know what a friend is, it's someone who helps promote your silly little book while her husband is dying of cancer. It's someone who, while she made the most of the time since a December diagnosis, took the time to tell me how she was proud of me.

What? Um, no. I'm proud of you.

On August 12th, Courtney lost her husband, Scott, and both their children lost their dad.

I know I joke a lot about the trials and tribulations of every day life, but the truth is, they'd be so much harder without my partner in crime. Husband may talk a lot in his sleep, but he's here to work hard, love us, and put up with my obsession with hummus, and for that, I'm grateful.  There's a good chance the blog would shut down the day I rolled over and saw an empty spot next to me in the bed and realized it was that way forever.

So, today, I join the rest of the blogging community in asking for your help. Courtney is now saddled with a mountain of medical bills, and I know we've all known how crushing those can be. If there's even a dollar you can throw at the link at the top of the blog, please know that it's appreciated astronomically.

Courtney didn't ask us to do this, but it's the least we can do. Because that's what friends are for.

By the way, you can get to her lovely blog, right over here.

Until Next Time, Readers.




Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Husband's Secret Life

"I mean, I love it, but new Peplum and a shark's tooth necklace can only ease the shock so much."

Afternoon Readers,

My mind isn't made up yet, but I'm just not convinced Dunkin' Donuts coffee is better than my regular Folgers dark Colombian blend. One smacks of delicious pastries, and the other of illicit cocaine dealings in the deepest jungles somewhere, but I'm on the fence.

Or is it that, after five cups in a row, it's hard to tell the flavor of any coffee?

Doesn't matter. I'll gladly kill all taste buds in my mouth for the shot at more caffeine and an even greater fighting chance at staying awake to rear the children. Surveys show that children who are raised by parents who aren't sleeping have a better chance at success and not wandering into the street.

But, let's not dwell on the fact I got up with the kids a total of five times last night between the hours of 1am and 5am. Instead we'll turn our attention to the captain of the Kellerman household, and examine his secrets.

Oh yes, he has secrets darker than his lush head of hair, a cloak-and-dagger lifestyle he tends to divulge only when he's fallen into a deep sleep and I'm trying to watch Conan and not feel awkward about laughing out loud by myself.

For, you see, while most people's spouses are snoring, I'm reaping information such as...

Friday, August 9, 2013

Unhappy Little Trees


Morning Readers,

I think I've figured out why the fake plant is dying.

Balding and sad, the source of the living room's right corner palm tree's malaise seems to be the children picking its leaves off and stabbing each other with them.

Shocking. I know. The fact I own two fake palm trees usually catches most people off guard.

"Two?" They say.

I nod. "Two."

"But you know nothing about plants."

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Though I Walk Through The Valley of the Toilet

The Kellermans are here to look at the stained glass and use your bathroom.
Afternoon Readers,

I'd like to start today by saying that the warnings on self-tanners, which clearly instruct the user to wash their hands after using said tanner, aren't joking.

It's like I have traffic cones for hands.

Let me direct you this way, where we'll talk about this weekend instead.

When Sunday came around, Husband wasn't feeling well, so I did what any rational person would do and proclaimed, "Mom's going to church. Who's coming with me?"

For a woman who stares at the popcorn ceiling at night and plans how she'll don a wig, glasses, clean pants and hop on a jet to escape the children by the time Wednesday comes around, I do a terrible job when it gets down to brass tacks.

Friday, August 2, 2013

A Punch is Worth A Thousand Words

"And now we'll sing a little song I penned, called, "We Fight So Much, Mom Had To Be Committed."

Afternoon Readers,

You don't know because you don't live with us (prayers of thanksgiving should be saved for the end of this post, so you don't get sidetracked with your enthusiasm and forget to read these finely-crafted words), but Doc doesn't like Cheerios.

That was my reaction as well.

And, call me a stickler, but I'm not totally satisfied with, "Bweee," as an answer to the question,

"What's it like to be un-American?"

National staples aside, the children are up to far more annoying things than not eating cereal, or ripping the cereal boxes open vertically, or pouring raw oatmeal all over the floor before I make it out of bed. Prompting me to shout things like, "Why do we own raw oatmeal?", before realizing my robe's flown open, grabbing the broom, and giving up before 9am.

Nay, the fighting.

The fighting will kill me.