Thursday, January 29, 2015

A Cut Below the Rest

"You wanna know how I got these bangs?"

Afternoon Readers,

I love my kids for so many different reasons, but one of my top faves is that they listen to the ridiculous plans I make sometimes and still continue to take me seriously. Except when they don't.

"Umm, I think we should just go have someone else do that."

My eyes crept over the top of the computer. "I think you're being a little uptight. There's absolutely no reason this wouldn't work."

Unconvinced, Sundance looked over my shoulder. "But you said someone else would cut my hair and we could go to the hairstylist's."

I avoided further eye contact and went back to scrolling through tutorials on Youtube. "Yes, but that was before the van wouldn't start."

"Why won't it start?"

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

You Aren't Fit To Cat Parent: Part II

"Maybe you should just put me in cat jail. I need a vacation like yesterday."

Afternoon Readers,

If you haven't guessed already, I'm the worst at cliffhangers. Mostly because my "to be continued" turns into a "Did I ever tell the rest of that? Because it seems like maybe I got mesmerized by looking at hair products on Pinterest and forgot."

But seriously, if you guys have a mild obsession with hair products, yet only do your hair once  a month like I do, please follow me over here and we'll waste time together. Seriously, I discovered the magic that is hair chalk, this weekend, and I'm in love. In love, I tell you. If I started a blog just dedicated to hair, how much would you hate me? Probably a lot.

Moving on.

So there I was, unsuspecting, shoving pizza in my mouth like there was no tomorrow or five minutes from then, when the call came in.

"Mrs. Kellerman?"


"This is Officer Jones. We need to talk about your cat, Felix."

Thursday, January 15, 2015

You Aren't Fit to Cat Parent

"If we get a cat, will you promise to feed it, groom it, and bust it out of jail?"

Afternoon Readers,

I'd like to start today by congratulating Andrea on winning the Minted giveaway! I really appreciate you playing along with the ridiculousness around here and wish you the best of luck with all future endeavors involving shutters and the teeny, tiny nails that keep them perilously in place. 

Pet ownership, I never wanted any part of it. I'm not a regular Cruella or anything, but anyone who knows me well, also knows I'm no Jane Goodall.

I have to feed it?

Groom it?

Not step on it?

And it's not my kid? Pass.

Don't get me wrong, animals are wonderful, but if it weren't for Husband, I probably would've left the care of pets way behind me and enjoyed a hair-free couch my entire adult life. The day he brought Salvador Perez home, I made it clear the cat could stay, but also that the feeding, litter box, and stopping the yowling at 3am duties were all his. His alone.

And that's why, of course, the cat has now become permanently tied to me and sole beneficiary in the event of my demise.

But let's put this in reverse for a second...

Amidst the hubbub that was last year's contender for most stressful move ever, we lost the cat. I lost the cat. The cat was lost by accident. As the last boxes were unloaded, and the race to beat the coming snow ensued, my haste to grab the kennel out of the van went something like this:

Me: The kennel just broke! The cat's running away!
Husband: I forgot to tell you about the special way to pick it up!
Me: Why?!
Husband: I don't know!
Me: Come back, cat! You don't know where you are!
Husband: Salvador!
Me: Pretend you're a dog and turn around!

It was a maelstrom of exclamation points, but there was nothing to be done. Much like Kevin Costner's career, Sal ran off in to the night, never to be seen again. Sadly, we turned back to the house, quietly dreading telling the children of their parents' ineptitude to transport the family pet five miles down the highway. Acceptance set in. A week went by. The cat was gone forever.

"They found the cat."

I set down my thrice reheated cup of coffee and stared. "What?"

Husband set down his phone. "That was animal control. They picked up Sal and want us to come get him. Umm... "

"Umm, what?"

"It's gonna cost some money to get him out."

"We need bail money for the cat? I thought we were saving that for the kids."

Responsibility tugged at my insides, and even though I felt the checkbook flinch when I grabbed it, I loaded all the children in the van and headed out on a freezing cold Monday to bust the cat out. He was just a little cat, after all. How much could it be to hold him for a day or two?

"That'll be seventy-five dollars."

I choked on my own spit. "Are you sure it's not eight dollars? What'd you feed him in here, prime rib?"

"Well, it would've been three hundred and fifty to re-adopt him, so it's actually a deal. Also, we're going to need your driver's license and all current personal information, so we can find you if he runs away again."

The children looked at me expectantly. "Fine. But if he runs away again, we're relocating."

"What was that?"


Grudgingly I handed over the money and loaded the cat back in the van for a second try. "Please don't run away again. That was all the grocery money. I can feed the kids ramen this week, but any longer than that, and it might stunt their growth."

All was well with the world. Upon arrival, Sal curled up in his new spot and became acquainted with all the various spots he'd spend the rest of his life napping on. Paying to get him back had been worth it because we could now move on. Sort of.

*Ring Ring*

"Mrs. Kellerman?"


"This is Officer Jones. We need to talk about your cat." 

To be continued...

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, January 8, 2015

The Art of No Art: And A Sweet Giveaway From Minted!

"Know how to decorate? I thought the hat would've tipped you off."

Morning Readers,

Ahh, another year, another opportunity to lift the moratorium on hanging things on any home I own. Some people resolve to lose weight. I just ate the Bacon Portabello melt from Wendy's and thought, "I'll work out in two thousand sixteen. Two thousand fifteen is the year of matted-down frames and splashes of color. Note to self, find out what constitutes a "splash."

Insider tip, if you ever find yourself wandering through my house, please be kind enough to load and fill the dishwasher. But after that, take a look at the walls. What do you see?


Did you go blind? No, you did not. What you're seeing is wall expanse after wall expanse completely devoid of pictures, paintings, statues, and, thank goodness, a roughly-hewn, nude sketch of me in charcoal. The Split level had no decoration on the walls because of fear, the simple, primal fear that all Kellerman children would rip everything off the walls, beat them with a hammer, and set a bonfire that could be seen from the nearest Willams-Sanoma.

As much as you love them, children have a tendency to take down art and poke holes in the Mona Lisa's eyes. It's just a fact. However, the Three Musketeers are getting older, and, seeing as The Oak Palace is a new place with new possibilities, I've decided to face my fears and start decorating.

Will it be professional? No!

Will things sit at a right angle? No!

Is there a good chance I'll hit a nail into the wall too hard and go right through the drywall? *Slowly retracts basket of rhetorical questions*

But where to start? The good news is I have a jumping off point. The good people at reached out and asked if I'd like to try their goods. So, I started poking around and found all the AMAZING art on their site. Behold, Sundance's first, very special, nailed-to-the-wall-do-not-take-it-down-child, print.

I'm not sure who Addison is, but I hope she's not miffed when Sundance throws her own name on that hill.
So very cute. I may not know how to position a centerpiece properly, but I know cute when I see it.


You know me better than that. Of course there's something in it for you, my dears. Just enter the handy dandy Rafflecopter below, and you could win a 50.00$ credit to

Grab a customized print.
Beautiful fabrics.
Or, if you happen to be getting hitched soon, they have save the dates that are way more stylish than the ones I sent out. I seem to recall writing something on Taco Bell wrappers, wrapping them around rocks, and throwing them through people's windows.

I don't know who you are, Pamela and Tynan, but you're way better looking than a rock through a window.

Get to it, my friends, and I'll see you next week, most likely mumbling something about blue wallpaper.

Until Next Time, Readers!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
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:

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Here Comes the Neighborhood

"We just moved in and they're already bringing us cookies. Everything's going according to plan."

Morning Readers,

Henry Ford once said, "Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is progress; working together is success."

So the only true and steadfast conclusion I can draw is that Mr. Ford was never a housewife who had to humor a door-to-door security system salesman, while kicking her kids behind the door with her foot and missing. Any mother worth her salt knows the minute the door opens, young children try to flee to the streets like they've just received an invitation to method act in the universe's next production of Annie.

The saddest part of the whole thing was my lack of bra. Then again, I don't wear one on days that end in "y," so I'm being caught unawares with a regularity that would give the owner of bran flakes a run for his money.