Tag Archives: parenting

Stupid Things Mothers Compete About

This post is probably more relatable to women, maybe because it’s about mothering, maybe it’s because I’m a woman, maybe because Air Bud can play basketball really well.


“Nothing but net!”

Maybe because I said maybe a lot and cited reasons. If I use potentially or possibly this post would sound a lot smarter, because scientists use those words more so to support their hypothesis (an educated guess, because everything scientists do is educated, even guessing). If my calculations are correct scientists could potentially guess with education than you when they play Guess Who? leaving you to guess, well, stupid. Also by my calculations I can make a hypothesis if I wear a lab coat, lab coats make you seemingly smarter than before.

3.Who has the most disinfected kid.

we all know that kid’s hands are more vile than a urethral swab from Tommy Lee. However moms think that having sanitizer in their purse, on their key chain, and simply everywhere makes them superior. They are quick to give you the most horrified look when you don’t splash Germ-X on each rung of the monkey bars as your kid goes across them. Firstly, hand washing with soap and water is more effective being that it kills C. Difficile spores. That’s one that can make your butt a diarrhea fountain not unlike the chocolate fountain at Golden Corral. Furthermore, constant sanitation eliminates germ exposure, weakening the immune system. Yes, your kid should wash his hands throughout the day but if you think that leaves you bacteria free, your an idiot. The body is comprised of millions, trillions of bacteria, approximately five pounds of it. we also have an immune system that operates on recognition of invading pathogens, so while it may be counterintuitive, the body breeds exposure in order to respond appropriately.



2. Who had the worst labor.

Birthing a child hurts, duh. Most women had contractions, painful ones at that. Some women labored for hours, some for days. Some women are dead set on having the most worst labor of all time as if they give prizes for that. First of all oxytocin, that awesome hormone that starts contractions, creates a flow of wonderful emotions, and also causes a woman to forget just how painful labor is. That’s nature’s way of “buying you a drink”. I mean if you remembered distinctly every detail, humanity would have ceased or slowed considerably. What could be a shared experience for women to relate to each other is sometimes a battle for who had it worse. It’s hard for me to openly talk about this subject for this reason. I love to hear other women’s stories but not when they have to detract from everyone else’s with, “Oh that’s nothing, I’ll tell you about MY birth…”


“When you were born it felt like Wolverine shredded my vagina”

1. Who sleeps the least.

Another favorite, some mothers love to make lack of sleep a badge of honor. Again, this could be supportive and relatable right? Fuck no! “When MY child was a baby he slept four hours every seven days, and I cleaned the house while he did that.” Yes, infants wake often. Sometimes they have colic, and they sleep very little. However, they do fucking sleep, because humans sleep. What’s worse an admission of being tired is like a celebrity tweeting a racist comment, you are subject to scrutiny. Not only will women make outrageous comparisons but ensure you that you have failed because you require just some of that restorative function our bodies need, not want, need.


I suppose us women will always compete. Maybe we’re evolved but we still look at the Facebook pages of our boyfriend’s ex or our ex boyfriend’s current girlfriend. I admit it, and admit I do it because I want to think I’m prettier, thinner, better at taking bathroom mirror pics. People in general brag more than they should really. Oh well, what to do? Well, besides hate every bitch at the YMCA pool, or baseball game, birthday party, pre-k keg party…what?

I love the moms who just admit they struggle and it’s challenging to be a mother. There are women who really do face so much adversity. I’m not sure why women aren’t supportive of each other as they could be. If being a good person and parent kept score, I’d be somewhat better than the Detroit Lions, somewhat.


Worst Day of School

I spent a great majority of my school years in the Tennessee school system. No, it wasn’t one room, no it wasn’t on a tobacco farm, yes there was a pair of cousins that were caught kissing in the bathroom. For reals, it happened.

I’ll have you know TN schools are 21st century.

Due to a recent virus outbreak at my job, this post was prompted by conversation about it. What was going around? That I do not know, it could have been introduced by anyone or anything. It’s a proven fact according to TLC’s show Hoarders: Buried Alive that anyone can live in deplorable conditions and not even the closest of friends know. Anyone, that lady with the hand sanitzer on her desk, a cover up. She has jars of urine and feces decorating her house because her bathroom is full of magazines, because that’s where they should go, duh. I will accept this as long as it’s not Woman’s Day, which we all know, it is.

 Me wuv cupcakes!

Which brings me back to 2nd grade. My teacher, Mrs. White, bless her kind heart wherever she may be.

I must have gotten a stomach virus, possibly from contaminated Kid’s Cuisine, who knows. I made it half way through the school day when I began throwing up, and didn’t stop. I became a Garbage Pail Kid. The school tried to call my mom, who wasn’t home. No cell phones…so they tried the emergency contact list, whoever the hell that was. I was stuck at school, vomiting relentlessly. Because I’ll assume before caller I.D. people just didn’t answer the freaking phone.

Sorry I missed the call hon, I made this cool hat with our phone.

During a game of “heads up seven up” which is a “quiet game” and should be called “heads up shut the fuck up”, I increased my gross sick kid factor to the tenth power. It was like this:

My teacher grabbed a trash can and put it beneath me but a little too late because it was all over the floor. When I looked up this kid named Matthew was pulling the scotch tape off her desk and taping his nose going, “Oh God! It stinks!” Which made me laugh and then puke more. Sensing the possibility of me grossing out other eight year old kids, igniting a puke chain reaction, she ushered me to the bathroom.

Right now, as and adult, I know what this lady was thinking, “Where the fuck is your mother kid? So help me, if I get sick, I am taking a week off. If she gets anything on my denim jumper with apples on it, I’m gonna be sick.” Well, she helped me wash up and splashed cold water on my face, like a saint that she is.

But this is my FAVORITE denim jumper.

I get back to see the janitor with the dust cleaning up my mess. I know what he was thinking too, “All this from one fucking kid? Did she have a massive head trauma? Six Flags doesn’t clean this much puke up!”

Well that Matthew kid had used the entire roll of tape on his face which became a mask or sorts. Only, he couldn’t get it off. My teacher then had to pull this hastily devised respirator off while he screamed, “It’s pulling my face!” I laughed and of course puked more, this time in the trash can. I’m sure she went home and drank a bottle of whine before zoning out to  Family Matters.

He’ll never give up on Laura even when she files a restraining order.

Well, the fiasco wasn’t over, I had to ride the bus home. I had not quite emptied my gastric contents however, ohhh ho ho no, not quite. I couldn’t get close enough to the front of the bus and I guess being like eight, I didn’t think to tell the bus driver, Ms. Ruby, she had those super high bangs. I know she rocked out to Poison all day, every day. Well, I almost made it home but not quite. I ran to the front of the bus but threw up on a kid right before the trash can. He was this red-headed little asshole so I feel karma was at work this day.

If he had this on it would be huge SPLAT yes!

He screams and Ms. Ruby slams on the breaks. I almost go flying into the windshield. At this moment, I would have welcomed the embrace of dead relatives as they guide me to a bright light. Heaven is very well lit, you never strain your eyes reading there.

“This escalator takes you to Dillards”

Well, I throw up at the bus stop too and the children disperse but not before screaming “Ewww! Don’t touch her!” Now I know how a leper felt in the days of yore. It was rather isolating. I make it home and my dad is in his usual television after work attire, a white t-shirt and shorts, with slippers. He has no idea I’m sick but he suggests I lay on the couch and watch Cheers, which I think made me sicker.

Everything this guy says still makes me nauseous

My mom finally came home and rendered aide. She got the ginger ale out and a cold rag for my forehead. I swear this magic combination is sheer alchemy only mother’s know, because I was fine soon after. I still don’t know where she was, M.I.A. during that fateful phone call, but I’m going to assume drugs. Yep, drugs. She hid it well, I always assumed the track marks were because she said she had a “diabetes habit”. I hope you all know I jest.

Well, drugs or Thigh Master 

I didn’t go to school the next day, much to Mrs. White’s relief I’m sure. I got to play Barbies and listen to my Paula Abdul tape all day, weak, but much better. I got back to school and I was made fun of for about a week straight. That red-headed fuck on the bus never spoke to me, nor made eye contact. I mean, I did  throw up on his Starter jacket. Sorry asshole, I’ll have you know my puke looked better than your freckled face! I hope you also know I jest. He was an asshole though. Worst school day ever.

Hey Ipecac! Toss your cookies lately?! Ha ha, we’re funny, let’s go play with slap bracelets.

Google Search Users Don’t Understand Kids

Yesterday, I wrote about kids, specifically my kid and the children of the Industrial Revolution. My spawn, as I like to call him. I tell him all the time I am so happy I hatched him. He looks at me with wonder, love and trepidation mostly trepidation. I’m sorry I’m so weird son. I’m also sorry that I’m going to be embarrassing when you’re a teenager.  Please just know I love you, bear with me.

Well, I couldn’t fit this into my post yesterday as it didn’t fully fit the format. Today I will share with you some of the jacked up Google searches I found for children while researching child labor.

All of these began with: WHY DO CHILDREN…. 

1. Scream for no reason?  I tend to agree, have you taken a child to a birthday party? For fuck sake, it’s like a scream fest where they get together and scream, eat cake, only two bites, waste the rest and then scream more.

First a circle scream, then we’ll stand in a line and scream

2. Join the Taliban? Well given it’s optional, it’s probably like summer camp…that teaches suicide bombing and kickball.

3. Souls stay behind? Not all of them, just the souls of poor kids.


4. Overgeneralize words? All children always do this all the time, times infinity.

5. Always stare at me? I like to believe their giving the “evil eye” trying to evoke misfortune in the form of The Black Death to my family and famine to my crops, killing my goats. To counteract this I recommend a vial of lizard blood and skullcap.

6. Play with their poop? It’s organic play-doh

7. Fail in school? Because learning is dumb, duh.

8. Have to suffer? I hope this person shook an angry fist at Google when they typed this rhetorical question. WHYYYYYY????!!!! Damn you!

It’s not fair! Answer me!

9. Vomit at night? Ugh, what the hell is wrong with that kid? I bet because he played with his poop all day and didn’t wash his hands.

10. Use private speech? So adults have no idea that they are plotting when and where they will start screaming, that way it appears unprovoked and spontaneous.

“Why does this happen?”

11. Need vitamins? Those too? I got to feed and water this thing as well? Gah! Can I trade it for a Chia Pet? I’m glad a parent felt the need to research this…

12. Take Xanex? Because lacking responsibilities is stressful.

13. Cry in their sleep? They’re whimpering, probably dreaming about chasing rabbits and squirrels, right? I mean they’re legs are moving like they’re running.

Or because monsters know kids are delicious.

14. Feel the need to access guns? You can’t join the NRA without a gun. You can’t be American without a gun. I’m as proud as a bald eagle.

15. Hate you? Don’t take it personal, they hate all adults, hence the real reason they are constantly screaming.

Lastly a search that did not fit in with the searches above:

Why do Tom Cruise’s kids live with him? 


Back In Someone Else’s Day…

I believe children are the future, why? Well, because chronologically speaking they are, duh. I have a kid of my own. I try my best to provide a happy childhood all the while preparing him for a productive, industrious adulthood. I surely don’t want him living in my den, eating Cheetos, and wiping his orange powdery hands on my furniture as he watches Walker Texas Ranger all day. Cringe.

OF course you have to lick your fingers, who wants this crap on their fleshlight?

I for one do not let him have his way all the time, often times it’s not even a democracy in my house. As he gets older I plan on negotiating more but at five, let’s face it kids that age have terrible ideas. For example drawing all over their legs before pictures are taken.

Because tattoos are way cooler than marker, what are you a frat boy? Bro!

One weapon I have in my arsenal goes beyond the starving kids in China bit. For one thing, they can only have one kid…is it really that hard to feed one mouth? I wonder if their dinnerware is as toxic as the materials used for the goods they export to us. Always using lead paint and shit…’Merican made that’s the way to go. I love guns and the ten commandments, U.S.A.!

“How many stars?” “I don’t know, like 15, get to work or they put us in the pit of many shames!”

I want my kid aware of how shitty his predecessors had it, not so much me or my parents, not really even my grandparents (poor, but not destitute). Nope, I had it pretty cake and they didn’t necessarily suffer. Plus, my dad got to be a cool ass greaser. His hair was truly awesome.

My dad still breaks into choreographed song and dance , gets into knife fights, and drag races like, every day.

I think maybe Industrial Revolution Era children had just cause for insolence , dying their hair black and refusing to turn Depeche Mode off repeat long enough to eat family dinner.

“Leave me alone mom! I gonna sit in my room and draw pictures of fairy girls that are  prettier than me!”

In 19th century London, children as young as three years old were put to work. I am going to say right here: I better have made more wages than a toddler. The exploitation of child labor was regulated by four inspectors for all of  England . At least in 1831 the Whig party reduced the average child’s work day from 16 hours to 12 hours maximum, what a relief.

“I don’t care if you don’t know how to read I need you to edit 12,000 reports by Friday, and I don’t care that it’s Thursday! Yo Gabba Gabba? Forget it!

Without OSHA and an over enthusiastic dork of a general manager, there weren’t many safety regulations (My first manager would double thumbs up a job well done and actually say “Thumbs up, guys thumbs waaaay up!” Cringe.) It was not unusual for children to lose appendages, inhale toxic fumes, and die from injury and related illness. Yeah, school doesn’t look so bad. Doing a report on Hernando De Soto beats being crushed to death by a four ton mining cart full of coal.

“Yeah…If you could not maim yourself in our faulty, unsafe machinery…that would be great.”

I can’t wait to drop this tidbit of knowledge the next time my kid complains that I am taking to long deciding on bow-tie or elbow noodles. I mean, these kids were probably pretty miserable.

Yep. Except for far left, he’s the company cheerleader.

This kind of makes my dad’s tales of having to help build a stone wall and early life without television seem well, lame. I believe these kids walked barefoot in the snow, to punch that clock. So the next time my son whines, I may just drive by a local factory and tell him to wait in the car while I get him an application. I think he’ll change his tune.

Don’t call child services on me, I know child labor is no longer legal. That’s why he’ll make me money as a pageant kid, they have boy competitions too.

No one will EVER pick on this kid in school

Death > Kids Bop

I know I used to be a kid, but even as a younger me I didn’t always mesh with other children. I preferred the company of adults. So, naturally as I got older, I’m no Dugger at heart. My standard tolerance of children is limited in capacity, like, 1.5 children per day. Yeah that’s the calculation I came up with, don’t argue it’s a series of complicated mathematical theorems and it’s SMART.

Don’t get it twisted, I care about children and I do love them. I am outraged by any harmful acts on a child. I love their innocence and honesty. However, some kids, are so annoying I want to improvise a home sterilization kit that will render my eggs more useless than a Beanie Baby collection.

Here are the type of kids that I find most offensive, trust their parents are to blame for letting these things happen:

1. Real life Garbage Pail Kids

We all know that children’s hands are a reservoir for infectious disease and all things yuck. My son’s hands retain a slimy, and sticky texture after several vigorous hand washing attempts. My car windows are petri dishes for bacterial growth studies. Some kids, however, are really filthy. Particularly snot nosed, booger eaters. Never mind their cooties, they are one sneeze away from a mucous eruption. There is nothing worse than a kid who wants to engage in play with a nose full of nuggets. I absently pick a dangler or two from my son’s nose so as not to let it get to this level of gross. I can’t help but think “Bloody hell the wee bugger is going to breathe too hard and a booger is going to catapult itself onto me. What will I do then? I’m going to scream, how will I stifle it?” I watched one kid pick a booger off the floor once and eat it, double whammy disgusting. Who the hell did that kid belong to?

2. Kid Scientists

Know-it-all adults have know-it-all kids that are annoying. These adults and kids alike seem to lack mature knowledge that’s more applicable to daily life.  I have never had an intelligent debate with even a kid, much less, one convince me I’m wrong due to compelling argument. Hey kid, no adult gauges intelligence by knowledge of dinosaurs, mummies and Cartoon Network characters. Newsflash, “Nuh uh!” is not a definitive argument settler. If this kid can tell me how to achieve a high yield investment on my IRA, I might care. Otherwise, I’m steady looking for his mother, who should teach her kid that it’s rude to be an elitist turd and that no one is nice to nerds until they’re rich adults. Don’t get it Screeched and run away potential friends with an overly hostile stance on the exact era of the Byzantine Empire.

3. Evil Children

Evil Children scare me more than evil adults, always. First of all, I have an innate sense to nurture and be kind to kiddos (even gross know-it-alls). When they are evil they fuck up my sensibilities. Thanks to Pet Semetary, far away toddler laughter sounds sinister to me, especially if it echos. I mean, what’s more scary than a really strong little kid that can easily hide under furniture and in closets? You can’t outwit evil children like you could a normal kid. They don’t care if Santa won’t bring them gifts because they would murder him too. Evil kids also derive more joy from being evil. They’re always laughing, as if matricide is hysterical in nature.

4. “Indigo Children”

So…this kid can travel to the world of my 3rd grade Trapper Keeper? Yep!

This is separate from kids that have legitimate behavior issues: A term created to describe, well, kids that act like turds. Meaning they have parents that allow them to feel a “strong sense of entitlement”. To which my father would have said, “Hey, I’m the big cheese, you’re the little cheese, I run things here.” I knew my place. Also a “resistance to rigid, control-based paradigms of authority” meaning, they get to do what they want far too much. I’m sorry mom, but your brat is not more special than my kid, he probably has behavioral issues brought on by lack of discipline, not a paranormal ability or intuition. So while he may be destined for greatness (like playing the John Edward guessing game), he still needs to put Play-doh back in it’s container before it dries up. Time for time out, trust, it’s a good thing. Kids aren’t usually intuitive as much as egocentric, so do you really think they make sound decisions for themselves? So they live with us for eighteen years for what? Yeah, I didn’t think so. A boundary here and there isn’t going to stifle anything other than that child becoming an adult jerk.

I’m not saying I got this parenting thing down but I do try to teach my kid to be socially aware of someone besides himself. I don’t know for sure if myself and him are lumped in the annoying category…probably. BUT we are not guilty of the above violations, at least. *shrug*

Familial Related and Hated Movies and Music

I grew up the eldest child in my household. That means I was a totalitarian and fascist supreme ruler of the siblings. My reign of terror only defined by at the time larger body composition which adversely was no longer a threat when my “little” brother began to outweigh me by the equivalent of freakishly large tumor (one of those that contain teeth and hair…freaky).

Being the oldest child can make you mean for different reasons. You usually have to forfeit your needs so your younger sibling doesn’t cry. Meaning mom and dad usually say “Oh my God just let him/her have it, or just turn it to that channel, or sweet merciful shit Sheena just let him/her win.” Not that I blame parents or step-parents for this. The sound of a child crying without good reason is painful as hanging out with an insecure ugly girl who fishes too hard for compliments by insulting herself. Sorry, but that shit is awkward.

So as the oldest you have to give up toys that are in turn broken by carelessness. You must share any confectionery treat of any kind, even if that asshole ate their’s already. You have to bring them along with you to hang out with older “cool” kids, so you also have to be on best behavior. You have to play crappy during a game because their wee little legs won’t run as fast.  You NEVER get to play dodge ball with a younger sibling, learned that the not so good way. Lastly, you have to stand up to bigger kids because they pick on your brother or sister even when they are in fact scary (even though you’re way meaner to them).

Out of all of those things the only thing I really resent is the movies I had to watch and music I had to listen to on constant repeat with my siblings. All else is forgiven. Here’s a list of the most abused;

4. Home Alone

“Look what ya did ya little JERK!” admittedly, that was an awesome line delivered by Kevin’s uncle. The movies itself not so bad. My brother watched this movie so many times that subconsciously I absorbed every line and even to this day can repeat lines in sync with characters. Still. Mom had to rent this movie all the time from Kroger. Ya’ll remember that? When Kroger rented VHS? They did. THEN my brother got the movie for Christmas. I never wanted to sabotage a piece of electronic equipment more in my life.

3. Buffy the Vampire Slayer

I loved Paul Reubens aka Pee Wee Herman, aka Public Display of Self Affection (nobody forgets anything, ever) in this, I really did. Again, not the worst movie ever, but on a steady repeat it’s horrible. It’s not a serious as Home Alone because this movie was a five-day rental. Once it was returned the perpetual cycle was broken as my mom refused to get this one again.

2. Land Before Time Part One through Infinity

That was my sister’s favorite movie series. Okay so the absolute worst part of these series, and for crap sake there were no less than 1,000 of them, was the screaming. Like, I get it dinosaurs, you are in danger from “sharp tooth” the T-Rex and various predators. I understand it’s a hard knock life for baby dinosaurs on the brink of ice age and extinction, but why all the screaming. My brother and I would count each scream by each dinosaur and each movie had well over 30 on average. Land Before Time IV or V had over 70 from fucking “Cera” the triceratops alone. It was torture. The ongoing joke was for my brother and I to grab a plastic dinosaur and say, “Look I’ll play Land Before Time Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhh! Why do I scream so much? Ahhhhh!”

1. Hanson

In an Mmmmbop I want to kill myself. This album was my brother’s favorite. So much so that every two weeks we listened to it entirely on the way to dad’s house. He lived a pretty good distance so if the album ended, well, we just played it again. Then at mom’s house it was on blast um, all the time. No wonder the antithesis being Marilyn Manson became so appealing to me. He was the voice for my hatred against all thing Mmmmboppy-like. You can imagine the sense of joy I got out of the SNL skit where the brothers were forced to listen to their own song over and over until they begged for mercy. I couldn’t find a good clip. Audible sigh.

It’s all good, I adapted, and headphones are the single best invention for teenagers all around. I suppose if Hanson is my only bad memories, well then I’ve got some awesome siblings and great parents. Love you all!

Why I Didn’t Have A College Fund and Parental Face/Palm

Children lack logical reasoning. The idea of parenting is to help a child evolve from egocentric to adaptable, dependable, and productive adults. Some children have talents that are quite evident at an early age. Some, well, you have to love a child that’s yours, right? There are times looking back upon my childhood that I think my parents might have been concerned about the adult me. I will present to you the evidence that will substantiate my previous statement.

My Parent’s Face Palm List:

1. When asked by adults what I wanted to be when I grow up, my most likely response was “I want to be a mermaid.” Yes, I wanted to be a half sea creature who dies tragically awaiting the love of my human prince. In fact at six years old, an age I should know such things are not real, I would play for extended amounts of time in the bath tub pretending I was in an underwater wonder world of talking crustaceans. I want to blame Disney for it’s romantic adaptation of an otherwise depressing tale and penis castle for this faulty ideology.

2. Like most children I would obsess over things. Miss Piggy, dinosaurs, The Simpsons, Bob Ross, friendship bracelets and Goosebumps books. Well my first memorable obsession; Jem and the Holograms. I was so obsessed with this cartoon all girl rock group/orphanage (which I hope was a cover up for black market child selling) that I denounced my own birth name. I would not accept Sheena and demanded to be called “Jem” as in gem the rock. I would correct strangers with a swift exuberance that could only indicate I was a child asshole and probably embarrassed my parents every time I screamed, “My name is not Sheena! It’s Jem!”

3. I was a terrible kid to take into public. No big butt went unnoticed. It seems I had an obsession when I learned to talk. My mother says she took me to Piccadilly Cafeteria, the mecca of big butts. It seems I not only wanted my parents to know that some lady had a big butt, but I wanted the restaurant and half of Houston, Texas to be aware. I yelled “Look at her butt mom, it’s a big butt, big butt, big butt!” No attempt made by my mother would silence me. It seems I liked to do this often but this day in particular I could not be silenced. The lady heard me, and so did everyone else. My mom said all she could do was laugh, shrug and look like a terrible mother who teachers her children to overstate the obvious.

4. As a jerk teenager I was inspired by talk shows, particularly wild teen talk shows. At the time Sally Jesse Raphael and Maury Povich were broadcasting them almost daily. I don’t know if you recall them but here’s the synapses; Interview mom, mom cries, teen talks about being bad ass, teen goes to boot camp, and then teen cries. The most spectacular part was the teen interview. Particularly an episode of Maury where he would ask these fourteen year old twins a question to which they responded “Yes I do, I do what I want!” Okay, ha ha, right? I responded to anything my mom said with just that in mockery of the teens. I recall it got out of hand as it became the only thing I would say for a good solid week or longer. My poor mom, she only wanted to know if I wanted bread rolls with dinner or how my day at school was.

5. My brother and I loved to answer unknown or sales calls at our house. We would scramble to the caller ID each time the phone rang. Well, I guess I was fifteen, and a lady called for my mom. I told the lady, in my best child voice, my dad said my mom was in heaven playing with angels. There was a pause and the lady sounded absolutely mortified. I was so proud when I told my mom I have triumphantly abolished all calls from that company; bulletproof! Of course my mom was actually expecting that phone call. The other thing my brother and I would do was answer, let the person start talking, scream bloody murder, and then hang up. We did that with our parent’s mortgage company they were going to buy a house with. We were no longer allowed to answer the phone in our house for quite a while. Bummer.

I probably will be reminded by my mom of more stories, yes, she reads my blog. I know right? She hasn’t denounced me as of yet, that’s rather commendable. She’s way nicer than me. I know though she would readily admit I embarrassed her sometimes with my quirky behavior. I suspect though the mermaid thing was the deciding factor as to whether or not to start a college fund for me. Let’s just say….I have student loans to pay off.