OMG YASS: Three Things Thursday {three/ten/sixteen}

A major goal this year is to engage this wonderful blogging community consistently. What better way than to link up with blog friends! Together, the three of us came up with Three Things Thursday. Just three things to talk or write about. Five seemed like too many and "one thing" was like we weren't even trying! So any three things that are on your mind. Any three pictures from Instagram. Three complaints about your day/week. Three of your favorite treats. Seriously. Any three things! 
So write it. Publish it. Yell it from the mountain tops! 

Just be sure you come back and link it up here!

For some extra fun follow us on Instagram for some three things posts! 

Use the #threethingsthursday, and let's start talking!

The Foley Fam

Coffee-n-Ink

Absolute Mommy

Warning: If you hate the use of "OMG" and "YASS", just stop right here. Otherwise welcome my internet loving friends. Join me for this session of #threethingsthursday!


Three things that made me say OMG, YASS this week:

ONE

I'm super offended by theses four letter words. I'm also the worst housewife in the world. Here is a true story for you, and I'm not sharing this because #AbsoluteHubbs is a saint. We all have our things. Mine is not housework. Fact. So last weekend when me and the girls were slinging Girl Scout cookies at a booth on a Sunday morning, AbsoluteHubbs spent that time cleaning the living room and kitchen. Because he knew damn well that if he wanted it done he would have to do it himself. I know I should be embarrassed, but I'm not. I'm not saying I don't do any housework, I'm just saying it's never done consistently. So this quote got all the YASSS.

TWO

What makes me laugh about this isn't really what it says. Sure it's funny, but this was posted by Melinda Gates. Yes, that Gates. She's married to and she's posting this shiz like it's the gospel. Let's be honest, this may show (and I'm totally assuming and I'm totally admitting it) that Melinda Gates isn't that different from you and I. At some point she has put her man first before herself. Really who hasn't? Still I can't help but think that Melinda is a member of this tribe who strives to be that perfect little housewife all our mothers ran away from and burned their bras for, only to have their daughters cry about failed Pinterest projects. Shit just got real.

THREE

Honestly, if I could insert some emoji hands right now I would. Viola Davis is queen these days because her portrayal of Analise Keating is on point. She makes you love Analise, then hate her, then feel sorry for her, then want to yank the weave right off her head. And yes, the world knows that's not her real hair, so for the arguments sake we can "rip her weave off" if we had the opportunity . Anyway, I loved this quote as printed in People Magazine. Viola holds nothing back for her craft, even if that means blowing out her back in that scene from season 1 with Nate. GET. IT. GIRL. She says she was "committed" to that scene. To quote my friend's comment from my post on Instagram,

Ummmm... We were all committed to that scene. Real committed.

I hope you all are having a fabulous week. Did you know I posted something earlier in the week? Of course not, because I am terrible at self promotion. I'm also terrible at posting on this blog lately too. Don't be like me and post three things of your own today to link up with us! We'd love to have you join us! See you next week.

An InLinkz Link-up

Our Back to School Breakfast {Not even a little Pinnable}

It is that time of year again. Summer is coming to a close and mothers everywhere are pinning ideas on how to send their children off to school the right way. Scrapbook paper apples and banners welcoming the new school year are filling my feeds on Facebook and Instagram. I got so inspired, I thought I'd write my own back to school post!

Here is what our Back to School Breakfast will look like:

6:35 am
I will have hit the snooze button no less than six times. Even with my "sounds" at full volume, my children will still be in a coma like slumber that will necessitate the use of force to wake them up.

6:46 am
I'm still in bed checking Facebook to see what kind of effort I'll have to make today, to make it appear that I give a few fucks about the first day of school. Let's see... Chalkboard sign? Nope. Apple shaped pancakes? Nope. A perfectly cut and hand crafted banner welcoming the school year? Hell Nope. Great. Maybe the kids will let me off easy with a trip to Starbucks on the way to school.

6:56 am
Realize that I've wasted too much time comparing myself to all the "Good Mothers" on Instagram and now have zero time to get myself ready. Aw. Look at that, I'm already back in my "back to school" routine.

7:00 am
Wake each child. Start by kissing them and saying sweet things like "Good Morning, Love" and "Wake up, Lovey". Then poke them a little. Then kiss them some more. Then try to turn them over so they can look at you. Finally contemplate prying their eyelids open with my fingers.

7:10 am
Physically pull each child out of bed, and help them zombie walk to the couch where the TV is on and Cartoon Network is blasting. Give them both cups of sweet tea because caffeine is a very important part of this back to school breakfast.

7:20 am
Realize that both children are refusing to wear the Back to School outfits that they picked out , themselves, two weeks ago. Argue with them about all the kids in the world that have to wear uniforms to school, try to convince them that they are "lucky", instead of telling them that they are spoiled rotten. They are now protesting the new clothes by sitting in their underwear. FML.

7:30 am
Ask them if they would like pancakes or waffles. Offer to cut them in fun shapes like apples or butterflies. Both children look at me like you are unrecognizable, because their mom doesn't cut out "shapes". Offer to add sprinkles. They wrinkle their noses. Finally ask what they want. One Chocolate Chip granola bar and one serving of Pringles, respectively. How am I going to Instagram this breakfast of Champions?

7:38 am
Beg them. Bribe them. Threaten them. If they don't get dressed in five minutes they will go to school in their panties. They whine and complain but put on previously mentioned Back to School outfits. Then spend the next four minutes doing six different hair styles on each one, because they are girls.

7:43 am
Neither child can find their new shoes specifically bought for this day. This is because they refused to listen to me when I said, "Do not wear/move/lose your new shoes before school starts". Rant and rave about how they never listen to you. Ever.

7:55 am
Shoes are on. Hair is done. Oh shit. Lunches.

8:05 am
Lunches packed. The day has been saved. Now run, rush, and hurry to get in the car to drive to school and meet the new teachers. Yell a little. Then yell a lot. Where the in the... Where are the back packs?

8:10 am
We made it. We are at school. We are on our way to meet the teachers.... And stop right there and smile. Mommy needs a picture so she can upload it to a photo editing app, so she can write what grade you are in and stuff, because who has time for chalkboard DIYs? Also dole out mini peanut butter cups in my purse (for emergency purposes) because there was no time for Starbucks and also there was some yelling. These peanut butter cups will wash away the guilt. My guilt anyway.

8:15 am
Warning bell. Kisses. Zero tears even though my baby is entering kindergarten TODAY. Because there is no time for tears. I'm rejoicing that my kids are at school, with clothes and shoes on, hair combed, and they have food to eat. Praise the Lord.

8:20 am
Wave as they walk into their new classrooms. Walk to my car in tears of relief, joy, and sadness. I made it (relief), they will be in school until three this afternoon (joy and elation), but my baby started kindergarten (sadness), and your first baby is in third grade (more tears). Resist the urge to write a very cliche post on Facebook, using the word bittersweet.

8:35 am
Sit in my favorite chair. Instagram the girls pictures that I have edited to show that today is the "First Day of School", adding their correct grades. Realize that they are both squinting in the sun, and not smiling. Make a mental note to take another one, but I know myself and will most likely forget. Catch up on some shows that use inappropriate language. Contemplate writing a blog post about how time movies so fast and back to school is hard. Decide it's better if I wait, because I will overuse the word bittersweet. Take a nap instead.

I can pretty much guarantee that this will be our first day of school. It's the same reason the leprechaun doesn't come for St. Patrick's Day and pee green in our toilet. It's why we never have fun crafts for Arbor Day or Flag Day. It's the reason that it's "National S'more day or National Doughnut day everywhere but here. Because life. Because chaos. Because I'm crazy enough without a Back to School Breakfast to prepare the night before, when not a single person in this house will fall asleep before midnight.

More Frozen BS

*** This post is not meant to be serious. It was written with the intent to make you laugh. Please do not proceed if you are offended by the "eff" word and other words like it. Also I use the word douche bag in this post. My apologies if I have already offended you***


I know that I've already written two posts about the Disney movie Frozen. It's no secret that we love all things Frozen in this house, including the message that it sends to little girls. Positive role models for kids are important no matter who you are, but me, I'm a women's libber at heart and so the idea that a girl forgoes the guy and saves her sister before she saves herself is more than just an act of empowerment. It's a friggen social movement.

The other day someone on my Facebook feed shared a video of a woman on some talk show ranting about Frozen. A woman. Her biggest complaint was that Frozen puts boys and men in a terrible light. It depicts them as stupid and inept and how can we as a culture "empower women" while "emasculating men"?

And with that I turned into a feminist riot-grrl. Ranting and raving and almost throwing my iPhone in a frenzy of: Are you effing kidding me? Does this woman even have a vagina? What kind of bullshit is this?

The Hubbs looked at me like I was crazy?

I'm sorry but has she not been participating in the world since I don't know, nineteen hundred and always**? **this is a John Stewart/Daily show joke

Then when I calmed down and thought about it, I was able to form a different opinion. Maybe it's not so rational, but we are talking about a cartoon here, and even if I may have taken said cartoon a little too seriously in the past, I'm going to lighten the mood here. Frozen does not emasculate men. Not for one minute. What is does do, is show little girls who will grow up into Empowered Women, what an asshole looks like.

Hear me out.

Prince Hans of the Southern Assholes seems like a real stand up guy. At their "meet cute" he saves Anna from what will sure be her drowning since I'm sure she never learned to swim locked up in that castle all those years. He doesn't even get mad that he then gets drenched when she leaves, and that Anna may or may not finish his sandwiches. I mean, he looks like a guy who really cares about his turkey and swiss foot long. He basically falls in love with Anna during a song where they do the robot which hasn't even been invented yet, and he wants to marry her on the spot. This is classic Disney: handsome stranger who knows nothing about you and your seedy past, falls in love with you at first sight and proposes marriage. This is why we (us gals) all grow up with the Cinderella complex, we just think that some handsome stranger is going to walk up to us in a bar and say, "Will you marry me?". At this point though, who cares, Anna has found her handsome prince, and has not a single care in the world. Which is wonderful considering Anna has no game in the love/relationship department after growing up in said locked castle. Thanks to Hans, she won't even need an match.com profile, which also hasn't been invented yet.

Prince Hans further promotes himself as "Suitor Number One" by promising to watch the kingdom while Anna has to find her sister, Elsa, who upon losing her temper has frozen the entire kingdom in an eternal winter. Which if I may point out is totally Anna's fault. So we leave Hans feeling good about Anna's decision. Wondering how the other dude, who we saw in the previews is going to fit into this situation. Because that other dude is on his way and somehow we know he is going to throw a wrench in this love story.

Enter Kristoff. Disney's blue collar man. Look, if ever there was a blue collar profession in the world of Disney, it's the Ice Man. Hard working with strong arms (no one will ever mention Prince Han's arms), he smells like the woods and reindeer and probably the Marlboro's that he smokes behind the Trading Post. He too seems like a stand up guy, since he agrees to the demands of a total stranger who claims to be a princess. She doesn't even show ID or anything and he just says, sure let me take you too the coldest fricking place in the land. No problem. He likes to joke with her and calls her crazy for getting engaged in twelve hours or less. He seems fun and adventurous, but hold on... He's an ice man and that Prince guy who is holding down the fort, er castle for you, he's the guy. He's a prince and so handsome and well obviously the better choice.

Until, as we all know, Prince Hans turns out to be a fucking douche bag.

Prince Hans is a gold digger, and as he begins to show his true colors, somewhat homicidal. He is a liar and a cheat and is perfectly happy with letting Anna die alone cold and heartbroken. What a dick.

This is not emasculating. This is shedding light on some men that really exist in the world. Perhaps I've never come in contact with any that have homicidal tendencies, but I've met plenty of assholes in my day. And if just once Disney movie would have said, "Listen up, this could happen to you!", I would have been all, "Oh shit, not all fairy tales have happy endings?". Maybe I wouldn't have planned my wedding against a Cinderella backdrop at age six. Maybe I would have said fuck it, I'll save myself, before worrying about a true loves kiss.

Can't we also argue that showing little girls everywhere that the Ice Man (Kristoff) is a solid choice is good for business too? Especially if it's love. That Ice Man loves that Princess,  yet I'm sure if her parents were still alive they would say Hell to the No, because he is just an ice man. So the fuck what? He's going to give Anna a good life, filled with love, cute kids, and lots of reindeer. Anna will probably move him into the castle, and she will be the bread winner and damn if that ain't good for empowering women too. And it's not emasculating Kristoff, it's bring his ass, and all our asses into the Millennial. Finally.

Bottom line Frozen is my favorite right now. I have daughters and they should know that the Prince isn't always right, the hard working Ice Man may very well be the man of your dreams, and for the love of GOD save your sister and yourself before you let some guy do your heavy lifting. Unless you want him to do your heavy lifting, then by all means girl, let him. It's your choice. It's always your choice.

I get that not everyone is going to love the empowerment that is going to be inspired by Frozen. Smart women are scary. Ask a smart woman, she will tell you. Someone is always going to have a problem with new. But I honestly think that Frozen will be one of those movies where in thirty years my grand kids are going to say, "Well duh, of course she saves her sister". Because the woman saving the day will be so common, we won't even question the ramifications of it.

Friday Funnies {Insta round up}

Lately because I haven't had a lot of time or motivation to write, I've been on Pinterest looking for things that make me laugh. Then I post them to Instagram because I feel like you need to see them too. So Happy Friday my friends. 

Harry Potter memes are always funny. And this makes my life now that "Dean" is on How to Get Away with Murder. Yeah, that's Dean y'all. So now when I do the recap with the bestie on Fridays, we both refer to him as Dean. He will always be Dean.

Thank you Time Hop. This was the best. My day was totally ILLLL after this popped up.

 Grammar jokes will always be funny. Always.

I told you. Side note and fun fact, the rest of this picture says, "The kind like Grammar used to make". I laughed. For a really long time.

I'm pretty sure this is how I look in a bikini. I can guarantee it's how I look in my underwear. Do you let your kids watch Clarence on Cartoon Network. I may be red flagging myself as a horrible parent with horrible television morals, but this kid is effing hilarious. We love Clarence over here. So when I saw this I just knew I had to post this. I totally saw myself.

I'm pretty sure this is a vagina. Like 99.9% positive that this is a vajay costume. It is an actual costume of "Cotton Candy" posted with a tutorial on Pinterest. I'm not going to link to it for a few reasons. One, this is someones kid. Two, this mom was probably super proud of this easy DIY Halloween Costume. Three, I don't want the person to know that I called this a vagina costume. But let's be honest. This kid is gonna grow up one day and realize that this was not Cotton Candy. This was a giant vagina, fully dialated and crowning. 

I'm telling you Harry Potter memes are my jam. The last one listed broke me. Absolutely broke me. 
 

I actually pinned this for a friend of mine who gets a lot of flack for being a fabulous person. If I'm being honest she is a hard working mama who is making the world a better place. So I pinned this shit for her because she is paying her bills and not a single eff is being given. Go girl. Get that shit.

Authentic Weather App has changed my life. This is from the Fresno State/Nebraska game and it was 100 degrees at kick off at seven in the evening. It was miserable and humid and there were so many sweaty people it was sick. Then I pulled up the weather. Amazing.

My kid's got some comedic timing let me tell you.

This is the card my father bought my mother for their 40th wedding anniversary. Never fails every year he gets her a kick ass card. And she always forgets to get him a card. 

Hey, if you want follow me on Pinterest. I promise you will love my LMAO board. 

Sit down...

Last Friday was a day. I worked of course, starting my day at the store at six in the morning. Yes, I said six. I worked until almost two, and then rushed home to change with little time to spare before picking up Caitlin. Of course I got side tracked by old Greys on Lifetime, so the next thing I knew we needed to leave right that minute to get to pick up. And because it's still hot as the sun here, I forgot to grab Capri Suns for the girls. So there we were after school, burning and overheating in the sun. How do we remedy this situation? Starbucks of course.

Let's do some real talk right now. Some of you reading this may be new to this blog, and I realize that you may not know of all my downfalls as a mother. One of the biggest, in the Hubb's eyes, is that both my daughters drink sweet tea. They have been drinking sweet tea since being in utero. Even when my other mama friends were giving up caffeine for their entire gestation, I was sneaking off to Starbucks twice a day for Venti Black teas, extra sweet. After they were born, and twice daily trips to the Bucks was no longer an option, I started making tea at home. So while most of your kids were getting milk and apple juice in their Dora the Explorer sippy cups, mine were drinking sweet tea. And if we ran out while out of the house, they were drinking talls with green straws.

So my girls have known the magic that is Starbucks for as long as they have had memories, so when I asked them what they wanted to drink after school Mackenzie yelled, "Starbucks!!". Now up until this point we have all been getting black teas. It's been like our cool club, but Friday Caitlin asked for a Mocha Frapuchino with out coffee, with whip and caramel swirl. I swear, she said that is verbatim. Looks like Grandma has been teaching her somethings while I have been working. Ok, let's order it. You're in second grade now, get that frap game girl!

We got our frap and our teas, and cookies on the side, because hello, I'm already batting a thousand in the motherhood department, and we went to the grocery store. We get to the store and I put Mac in the cart with her tea, and Caitlin is carrying her frap and her cookie and her face is full of crumbs and her hair is wild and Mac starts asking for powdered donuts because Starbucks cookies aren't her jam today. Whatever. It's Friday. I'm not cooking no matter what happens. So I get what I need plus Lunchables and some powdered donuts and we cruise the store. I break open the donuts and give Mac two. Everyone is happy and sugared and caffeinated within an inch of their lives. Perfect.

As I'm using the self check out I notice another mom. She is there with her son and daughter and they are getting a few things, I don't even pay attention to what. What I do pay attention to is the fact that she keeps staring at me and my children. So I smile, and she gives me the stink eye. The Stink Eye. She gives me the dirtiest look. I haven't gotten one of those in awhile. So I take a minute to regroup. What am I doing that is offensive? I haven't used the eff word. I'm not wearing a cleavage bearing top. My kids aren't being complete assholes in the grocery store. What gives?

Then I look at my girls. Mac has a white powdered ring around her mouth, as if she has been doing blow. Next to her in all her powdered sugar glory is her tall Starbucks cup. Then I look at Caitlin with her wild hair, her shoe boot for her broken toe, and her half drank frap. That's when it hits me, I'm being judged. I'm totally being judged.

I smiled my best, "eat-your-heart-out-bitch smile", stopped and let my kids pick out a lottery ticket (which is pretty much illegal since they are nowhere near 18), and I roll our asses out. But all I really wanted to say was,

"Sit Down".

Sit down lady. There is no coffee in that frap. My kids do just fine with sugar and caffeine and nitrates. I know what you are thinking Jude Judy, you're thinking that I'm breaking all the rules. You're thinking that I didn't read any parenting books to get me ready for this role. But you would be wrong. I did read those books and they made me feel bad about myself. They made me feel like shit. So I threw them out. And if a friend sent me more, I gave them to Goodwill. And yes, I'm breaking all of your rules, but I'm not breaking a single one of mine. Because if I want to feed my kids McDonald's for the rest of the month I will. And if I decided to give them ice cream for breakfast I'll do that too. Because these are my kids. Mine. So I decide. You raise your brats. I'll raise mine. Deal? Now go sit the eff down.

As a side note, my kids looked way happier than her kids. I bet she makes her kids eat kale. Clearly I'm the one doing it right. 

This A-hole in the drive thru

Can I ask you a question? Are we turning into a nation of Assholes? Don't laugh. I'm being very serious. Ok, maybe asshole is harsh, maybe I should ask if we are slowing dumbing ourselves to the point of idiocy. I can't put my finger on it, but I really feel like we are slowly turning ourselves into those "humans" in Wall-E. Where everything will soon be decided for us... Case in point:

This Asshole.

Let me set the scene for you. I woke up incredibly early for a meeting at work. Since I'm part of the Management team, I couldn't just roll up as if I had rolled out of bed. Trust me I seriously considered it. But I woke up at an ungodly hour for a Saturday, went to and participated in a meeting, and then as I was leaving decided to take my family breakfast. Because I knew two things for sure, one: there was no effing way I was going to cook breakfast, and two: McDonald's was still serving breakfast for another half hour. Score. My kids can't get enough of high fructose corn syrup and nitrates. So I booked it to McDonald's which isn't really that far from my house and realized that I wasn't the only person on my side of town boycotting the kitchen. The drive through was backed up, almost to the 7-11 in the same parking lot. That 7-11 will have some significance in a minute, I promise.

So here I am at McDonald's now 23 minutes before they forget how to make pancakes and only know how to make chicken nuggets. I'm starting to panic, because if my kids don't get these pancakes, I'm going to have to go home and use my toaster for frozen waffles and that is just an atrocity that I'm not equipped to handle at this moment in time. At 19 minutes before lock down, I have to make the biggest decision of my adult life... Which drive through line to pick. Because my McDonald's has two, to make sure more Americans are getting their McDoubles and hot apple pies. How do you choose? If I go left the right with go faster and if I go right, well vice versa. Well shit, here goes nothing.

I choose right, and I immediately know I've made the biggest mistake of my Saturday morning. I have a feeling that the car in front of me has no idea what is happening, since it sits there for a three car count. A. Three. Car. Count. Which in real life is like five minutes. I look at the clock and realize it's been eight minutes and I break out into a sweat... Eleven minutes until lock down. Eleven.

I'm not sure what the issue is, so I roll down my window with every intention of "helping". I'm not above "helping". And by helping I mean, getting out of my car and walking up to his window and ordering for him. But I refrain when I hear the following...

"Uh, well, I'll have a large Sprite..."

A large Sprite? A fucking large Sprite? Dude. There is a 7-11 literally twelve fucking feet away. You drove right past it and if you had looked out your passenger side window as you sat in this very long and slow moving line for the past, oh I don't know 13 minutes you could have Big Gulped your ass outta my way.

It gets better.

I can hear him and the order taker discussing the menu items offered at breakfast. Then I realize that the order taker is actually explaining and breaking down breakfast sandwiches for this asshole. Sir, excuse me, Sir? Have you ever been to a McDonald's? I mean are you new? Are you an infant? Are you a vegan who has fallen off the wagon?

Then it hits me. This has to be the stupidest person in the world because there are pictures on the menu. PICTURES. And not just pictures of people enjoying food, but pictures of the ACTUAL FOOD TO ORDER. Even better McDonald's has taken out the hard part of having to memorize the names of the food, because they have provided numbers. NUMBERS and PICTURES, of the food. So you can order with ease. So you can order despite the fact if you have a brain or not.

I wish I was making this up. I wish.

So my question is, are we there? Are we to the point that we have dumbed down even the most simplistic things that we are beyond help? Have we some how reversed and become beings that regardless of pictures and numbers still can't even order an Egg McMuffin with hash browns and a coffee? Even if we have no idea what it's called, but we can see it looks delicious and beautiful, and so we yell out a number and then the cashier yells out another number, and then we use our fingers and toes to count out green paper rectangles and metal circles so we can eat our designated number?

Are we really that stupid?

Don't ask me I proceeded to order the wrong breakfast for the Hubbs using the wrong number and picture on the men, and then they shorted me a hash brown because, well it's fucking McDonald's.

Then I went to Starbucks and waited in line for and paid over two dollars for iced tea.

Who's the idiot now?

The weaker sex

I've come to the conclusion that if men had vaginas, they would die.

We can debate back and forth about if men could actually carry and deliver a baby all day. That's just a piece of the puzzle. I'm talking about the every day care that goes into having a vagina. The surprises, the intrigue, the spontaneity of being a woman. Yeah, I'm pretty sure they would die.

I was talking to my neighbor last week, a male one, and don't worry my husband was there too, and we got on the subject of waxing. As you can tell I talk in real life just like I write on this blog. Anyway, we got on the subject of waxing and I was telling them they should come with me next time and get a little taken off the "top". We were having a good laugh, when my neighbor mentioned that there was no way in hell he would let anyone take a look at his "junk". Before I could even laugh I said, "You'd die if you were a woman".

Let's face it, most of us have been laying on tables with our feet in stir-ups for years. We never even questioned it. If men had to go in and have a "smear" of any kind, they would drop dead at sixteen. The mere mention of the word "smear" makes my husbands skin crawl. In our pre-teen and teen days, not only did we have to worry about hairy legs and underarms, but we also had to worry about "starting" at school. As if we'd all experience it like "Carrie", in the showers after P.E. while mean bitches threw tampons and pads at our heads. There were the social indignities of being a late bloomer, or being that girl in P.E. with a bra that rivaled our mother's. The embarrassment of the "changing of the guard" in the restroom between classes, because the crinkle of a feminine product wrapper is unmistakable. There is no other sound like it in the world. 

But we survive that shit. Because we are women, with vaginas. We are tough, and we weather the storms of embarrassment. Like the time your backpack spilled open at your locker and while you were picking up your pads, a cute guy walked by and saw you, and then you saw him avert his eyes as if seeing a pad in a rose colored wrapper would blind him for life. I'll admit, that is a true story. We have carried around sweatshirts and sweaters in the likely event that we need to tie them around our waists. We always have some type of extra feminine product in our purses, and perhaps now, if you are like me, you don't even hide that shit. The only draw back to that is sometimes you find a tampon out of it's wrapper in the bottom of your purse. And that usually happens when you need that last said tampon. 

As women we get to the point that we are beyond embarrassment. We are beyond being coy and blushing at the indignities of being a woman. Because having a period isn't the only thing that we will be cursed with. If and when we decide to have babies, we will have a doctor who will at any given time take a look down under. Have you ever had a vaginal ultrasound? It's uncomfortable to say the least, but it could also be considered a sexual assault if you think about about it. Then you have to talk about dilatation and waters and your bloody show. I shit you not, there is something called "Bloody Show". It's not an off Broadway production by Lena Dunham either, in case you are wondering.

I'll never forget the day Caitlin was born, and my nurse, a nice man with years of experience, put his gloved hand under my bed linens to check my progress. The look on the Hubbs face was priceless, while I just laid there as if this was something that happened all the time. It doesn't, trust me, but what kind of reaction is that? Oh hey Mr. Nurse Man, I just met you ten minutes ago, sure, go ahead and tell me how much I'm dilated. I'm telling you, this is because we are trained to do so. By the time we have children, we've had our vaginas looked at so many times by doctors and the like that we don't even fight it. We just roll on our sides and say "Can I get the drugs now, please?".

I'm convinced if men had to deal with a vagina on a daily basis, they would quit life. The Hubbs thinks there would be more kids in the world, but I don't believe that shit. One cramp, one contraction, one morning waking up in a literal pool of their own blood would make them quit life. Then to have to keep and care for one? Pads, tampons, waxing, "smears", and ultrasounds... There is no way. My husband still can't touch a pad, in it's original wrapping, unused, to this day. Even after watching me push out two kids. The idea, the mystery, the unknown worlds of the vagina are still frightening.

I'm sure it really does hurt to get kicked in the balls, they should be glad that's the only thing that could side line them. Let's be honest here, I've only touched on the physical aspects of being a woman and having a vagina, we haven't even talked about the emotional side. The Hubbs asked me if I could imagine if two guys had their periods and got in a fight at a bar. I laughed and we decided that they would fight, then hold each other and cry, then binge eat all the carbs, and finally become best friends. If that ain't the truth I don't know what is. 

Who really is the weaker sex? We may never know, but I know this. I can do anything. I can run a marathon if I choose. I can cook a gourmet meal. I can have my kids and bring home the bacon too. I can do anything, because I can bleed for seven days and not die. I can lie on a table and have the "smear". I can even get waxed within an inch of my life.

I have a vagina, what's your superpower?

Our Summer F*$k it List

Pin me, don't Pin me.. F**k it.

Last year I made up a Summer Bucket list for my family. With good intentions I might add. I thought, at the time, that I had made it really easy on myself. I only put things on the list that we were probably going to do anyway. Because it was summer, or because it sounded fun. At the time I thought it was going to be really easy to cross every single item off the list before school started. Oh, how I was wrong...

last years summer bucket list

I'm going to say we did half of the list, without being under duress. I'll say we did half of that at our own free will, and then about a fourth were done with me demanding that they be done, driving myself crazy so we could actually complete them. Those were not as much fun as you can imagine. Then there were the ones that just didn't happen. Nope to the lemonade stand. Nope to the night swim. Nope to the night walk to get ice cream. But guess what? And you probably already know this, my kids have no idea that we failed, as a family, at our Summer Bucket list. They are clueless to the fact that there was even a summer bucket list because, and here is why I'm such a good mother, I never bothered to post it. I think that was done by my subconscious to save me from having to admit to my children that we didn't do something they didn't know we were supposed to do. Even though, we really didn't have to do any of those things. Because I made it up.

Can you see where I'm going with this? It's a made up list of expectations of what I think, and what Pinterest thinks, our summer should consist of. I have some blogger friends that are in the midst of posting their summer bucket lists. Some even have printables. And I love that. And I love them. I love that they are the kind of blogger that plans a summer of magical adventures for their children and their families. And good for you, if you have a summer bucket list and you are wholeheartedly enjoying checking off every item that you have planned for June. You're amazing, I'm serious. But I realized last week that Summer Bucket lists just aren't for me. 

My mom never used or wrote a summer bucket list. She worked full time so my summers where spent with my grandma. I spent my summers catching up on General Hospital, grandma's favorite. I spent my summers at the grocery store helping my grandma bag our groceries. I spent summer nights in our apartment complex riding bikes with my friends and waiting for the ice cream truck to come around. My mom spent her summers relaxing and enjoying a break from the school/dance schedule hell she spent nine months being a slave to. We read books and watched movies, and if she got a wild hair up her ass, we'd bake Bisquick biscuits at midnight and watch Saturday Night Live. Without a list in sight, I have the most wonderful memories of  unscheduled, fly by the seat of your shorts kind of summers.

Which brings me to this year. I've decided that this family has a Summer F**k It List. Maybe we will get dressed and leave the house, maybe we won't. F**k it. Donuts sound fun, maybe we will leave the house early enough to enjoy them as breakfast food. Maybe we will have a picnic in a park, or maybe we will just eat on the patio at Panera. F**k it. Sure a baseball game sounds nice, but soon it will be 114 degrees, and that's just miserable. A movie sounds nice, but will we have to take a second out on the house to enjoy it? Homemade ice cream was a hit last year, but that new yogurt place just opened up and, well... F**k it.

No matter what we do this summer, it will be wonderful and amazing and probably much of the same we do all the time. Summer to me is about sleeping in. It's about eating ice cream at all hours of the night. It's about spending the entire day and most of the night in the pool, until you can't comb a single section of your hair, and you smell funny, but you are so damn happy about it. Summer is about enjoying every single minute of the daylight and every single sliver of the night. Summer is the absence of bedtime, grilled cheese sandwiches at nine o'clock at night, and donuts in pajamas at almost noon.

I'm not completely worthless as a mom. I know we have to do something this summer. I also know it doesn't have to be a blockbuster. It doesn't have to dazzle the little people in this family. It just has to be something we all do together. Even if it's just for a day. Or for an hour. That's why we are so content for now being home. Watching the Amazing World Of Gumball, while eating cheetos, and destroying the house with blanket forts and play food restaurants. We are quite content with Target trips, memorizing the phone number for pizza delivery, and frozen waffle breakfasts. Because it doesn't matter if you have a Summer Bucket List or a Summer F*&k it list. What matters is that you are enjoying every single minute of summer with the people who matter most. If you can say that, then you are doing it exactly right. No matter what Pinterest says. 

So if you never make that sidewalk chalk paint this summer that you pinned two years ago... F**k It. 

Ten things you'd hate about me

On the eve of Elevate, I thought it would be good to share a little about me.  Some of the people I will meet tomorrow will have never heard of me.  This is a good introduction when they decide to look me up via my business cards.  Plus, it first appeared on Nay's blog and I had nothing for today.  I was way to excited about the people I will meet tomorrow and the stories I will hear.  Just promise that you will love these things about me, even if you hate them too.

Don't hate, I just had my hair done when I took this picture.
I promise it doesn't look like this all the time.

Ten Things You'd Hate About Me
1. I'm an only child. And I've been spoiled to a fault. I'm so used to being the center of the universe that some days it's still hard for me to realize that I'm really not anymore. I'm a work in progress.
2. I don't drink coffee. Or any caffeine really. I've got adrenal fatigue and so caffeine is a no-no for me on most days. I do cheat occasionally. But most people think this fact about me is coo-coo bananas.
3. I'm a size four, but I still think I'm fat. I know, it's awful, you don't have to tell me. But in my defense, when you get used to a certain size and now you are a new size your heart kind of breaks a little. I'm learning to accept this new me, but it's been harder than I've admitted here on the blog.
4. I've done nothing to change number 3. I know. I should be exercising if I'm really unhappy with my size. But I really enjoy sitting on my ass and watching the Mindy Project or Scandal. I could be apologetic about this fact, but that would be a lie.
5. My favorite book is Love Story. My mother absolutely despises the book because of the cheesy movie made in the seventies, but the book captivated me! I wanted to go to an Ivy League school and date a hockey player/old money man like Oliver Barrett. I just didn't want to end up like Jenny Cavilleri if you know what I mean. But I adore this book for all the sap, descriptions of Ivy League schools in the fall, and poetry read at wedding ceremonies. I love every single piece of cheese it holds.
6. The flip side of that is, I cannot for the life of me enjoy Pride and Prejudice. I get it, I call myself a bibliophile, and yet I just can't with this book. This one I'm actually sorry about.
7. I am known for my selfies without make-up. What can I say, Instagram filters really make me look good. In my youth I would have never left the house with out make up and clean hair. As I've aged I've figured those things are luxuries on most days. So don't hate me because I know how to filter to my advantage. It's a finely cultivated skill...
8. I don't eat wheat, gluten, or grains of any kind. Yes, I'm that person. So I'm the worst to go out to dinner with. I always get to pick the restaurant, and I always special order. In my defense, I'm allergic to every grain that grows. As my BF says, I'm allergic to air.
9. I'm a Brazilian waxer. Even though I hate it. I still do it. I have my reasons.
10. I have nothing but love and affection for the "eff" word. I mean, it's really the ultimate word. It expresses so much in just four letters. You will probably see it from time to time here.Listen, I've got small kids, so my use of this word has taken a back seat in recent years. However, I've been known to use it as a comma, an adjective, and a verb. Sometimes in the same sentence. I really do try to sprinkle them in...
So that's me. I'm sure there are a hundred things you hate about me, but writing that would just be another thing to hate about me. What are some things I'd hate about you? Leave them for me in the comments. I can't be the only annoying one in the blog world.  

Elf on Film {Buddy the Elf 2013}

If you have followed this blog for some time, then you are well aquainted with my Elf On the Shelf, Buddy Fiddlesticks McChristmaspants.  What started out as a fun activity with my kids, soon turned into pure adult entertainment.  The Hubbs and I have broken every rule when it comes to bringing you Buddy and his adventures.  And by every rule I mean every Facebook rule as we got reported last year. Apparently my Elf needs some rehab.  I was nervous this year though, how do you top what you feel was your Olympic Gold last year... 

I mean how does one top this situation?

Oh, right.  That's how.
Send your rehab emails now.

I was just about to give up on Buddy and trying to create crazy shenannigans until I was listening to the radio a few days after Thanksgiving and had an idea.  Why not bring Buddy to life?  Why not have him start in remakes of some of the most popular songs and videos of the last year.  So that's what we did, and when I say we, I mean me and my Hubbs who is part of the Buddy Staging Team.   

Getting all these videos to come to life was fun and challenging and I hope brought some holiday cheer to those of you sick of seeing elves bring hot chocolate and homemade cookies to children everywhere.  I think Buddy brought the kids some candy and some hot chocolate three weeks ago, then he quit because he is obviously an Instagram star now.  

These short 15 second videos for Instagram were all made via Flipgram.  All music used was purchased via iTunes.  With the exception of the last video, where I staged that in my living room, using my tree and my iPad, and YouTube.




Popping Tags...




Step one: cut a hole in the box...




He can't stop, and he won't stop...




He lives for the applause...




His name is...




You're the hottest elf in this place...




He's gonna show you a good time...




He just wanted to break your walls...

What was your favorite video this year?  I think mine is Suit and Tie... 

Merry Christmas from me, the Buddy Staging Team, and Buddy himself.

One Fish, Two Fish, Snapfish, Crapfish

Let's call this the Great Christmas Card Disaster of 2013.  Let's call this the shittiest customer service I have ever received.  Let's call this my first and last time buying anything from Snapfish.

After waiting eight business days, when I paid for five, I was so excited to see the little cardboard box filled to the brim with Christmas cheer from the Crutchfields (that's us).  I cheered, I stopped everything, just to open that little box and oh, wait... That's not our family picture, that's a little girl. Sure she is cute and all, but who in the Sam F*ck is she? What in Rudolph's name is this crap?  Where the hell are my Christmas cards?  I'll tell you where my Christmas are, they are most likely with a nice woman named Teresa Becker, since I am now the proud owner of her 60 5x7 photo cards with the sweetest little girl prancing around in a tutu.  

First let's talk about SnapFish customer service which has a phone service that closes at 5pm pacific time.  Fabulous.  Let's talk about their twitter account that tweeted me a link where I could live chat with an available associate, but wait you have to wait for that associate to come on line.  And that my friends took over 30 minutes and even when it would light up that an associate was available, there would be an additional wait of oh, say 7 minutes and 47 seconds, before the chat timed you out.  When I finally did get through, Prodam (an avatar maybe) roboticaly asked me what they could help me with and when I told them the situation, they apologized and said they could offer me a full refund, and then sent me the link to re-order.  TO RE-ORDER.  Hello, did you not notice that there are only 15 days until Christmas, and at the rate that Snapfish takes to ship, and at the risk of them fucking up again, I'll take the refund only.  I won't be shopping with them again.  I was sure to tell them that in the survey that followed my encounter with Prodam.  And I swear to Santa I am not making up that name.  

I know what you are thinking.  Geeze lady, one slight mistake on the people at Snapfish, and you are off the rails.  Give them a chance.  Everyone makes mistakes.  Ok, I see your point, but then again here is my problem with that.  If Snapfish is the kind of company that really cares about their customers, then why wasn't I offered a refund and expedited shipping on my cards?  Why wasn't I offered an additional 25 cards for free with no refund and free overnight shipping?  Snapfish didn't even ask about the cards I do have, which are not mine.  Cards that are of some one's child.  Sixty cards to be exact, so somewhere in the world Teresa Becker is just as pissed as I am, or she is in tears that she has to reorder her holiday cards as well.  Snapfish made no effort to save the sale, and by the status of their live chat, I have a feeling I wasn't the only pissed off customer.  But hey Snapfish, change my mind... Or don't.  

Alright, I'll tell you the real reason I'm so mad.  I'm a procrastinator.  I waited way too long to order "fancy" cards which I never do.  For the past six years I've been ordering Costco cards, the 5x7 ones on photo paper using their templates.  I always order them the week before Thanksgiving and mail them the day after Thanksgiving.  It's like the only thing I do that's organized and scheduled in my life.  My Christmas cards are my small holiday victory. I pride myself on my punctuality.  But not this year.  This year I went to TinyPrints to check them out.  And by check them out I mean fall in love with an impossibly expensive card that I knew The Hubbs would never agree to.  Because we have to order like 60 and that's just immediate family.  I'm totally serious.  Anyway, so I was totally in love with these cards, and since I couldn't afford them, I contacted a designer friend of mine to see if she could do something similar, but our wires got crossed, and so I found myself card-less the day after Thanksgiving.  And since Black Friday deals were a dime a dozen that day, I found a great deal and an acceptable card on Snapfish.  Seemed legit.  So I hit purchase and the rest is now the Christmas Card Disaster of 2013.

This is what I get for trying to be "fancy" and have Christmas cards on "fancy paper".  This is what I get for trying to keep up with the Joneses.  I totally get it, if you want quality, you have to pay for quality, and this year, I've gotta pay for cheap.  Well not totally cheap, I put an emergency call in to my designer friend and she answered, and agreed to help even though she has a long list of loyal card clients in front of me.  As I type she is working on my card.  And yes, I will pay her for the digital file she is rushing to me, so that I can upload it to Costco, and by the grace of Frosty have those babies signed, sealed, stamped, and delivered by Christmas Eve.  

Then again, I may just publish my digital copy on my blog and then Instagram it since obviously this is a total first world problem and now I sound like a complete asshole.  

Ever have a Christmas disaster of your own doing?  Leave it for me in the comments so I can read them and day drink.

The Pretend Mommy

Last week I was hanging out with Mac.  Your typical Wednesday night at cheer.  Trying to watch one child and keep the other child entertained.   I'm sure you've been there many times, and in those situations you tend to tune out one of your kids, because let's face it, the brain of a mother can only hold so much information.  The brain of a mother, while multitasking a multitude of things, can really only listen to one person at a time.  And last Wednesday I was only half listening to Mac.  It wasn't until my mom, who was with us, said, "Did she just say her pretend mommy?".
Yup.  She did.  Her Pretend Mommy.
So I asked her, Mac what did you say, and she proceeded to tell me in great detail that her Pretend Mommy was going to take her to Target and buy her toys.  That her Pretend Mommy was going to come to a tea party for her and Black Baby.  That her Pretend Mommy was going to let her bake cookies with sprinkles.  Hmmm.  So I asked her, What else does your Pretend Mommy do?
"She gives me chocolate so she can type on her computer"
Ouch, and I'm pretty sure your real Mommy does that too Mac...
I'm not devastated by the Pretend Mommy bit.  I'm sure when I was a kid, I had a pretend mommy that did all the stuff my real mommy didn't.  Like put make up on me, or let me wear her high heels, which for the record my mother has never worn.  I'm sure that most kids have a pretend mommy that let's them eat chocolate for breakfast and drink sodas all day.  A pretend mommy that takes them to the park on the hottest day of the year, and let's them play in the mud twenty minutes before bedtime.
What most kids don't realize is that Real Mommies do the Pretend Mommy stuff too.  Just not every day, and just not when the kids always want it.  Because Real Mommies still have to make dinner, and drive the carpool, and work real jobs.  Sometimes there aren't enough hours in the day for tea parties, and Target toy sprees, or chocolate bar breakfast buffets. Real Mommies have to set rules that are mostly followed, they have to set schedules that get broken, and they have to do these things to feel like they are the Good Mommies they aspire to be.  They do all these things to be the Good Mommies that they are.
I laughed out loud when Mac told me about her Pretend Mommy.  It was just the kind of thing Mac would say to bust me.  But then I did the one thing her Pretend Mommy could never do, the one thing that makes Mac's Real Mommy better than any Pretend Mommy anywhere.  I gave her a real hug and a real kiss.
Take that Pretend Mommy.

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A word to the wise {humpday happenings}

Warning.  Cable television just may be the death of the modern house wife.  The modern stay at home mom.  The modern woman.  As if I needed another reason to shirk responsibilities like dishes and laundry.  Like I need another excuse as to why I was should stay in my work out clothes and dirty hair for a few more hours.
Feast your eyes on the reason.

Pinterest

Uh, Hello?  Excuse me?  Now how am I supposed to peel my ass off the couch and do some laundry when these guys are peeling off their clothes? Seriously?  I asked my BF how on earth can Showtime in good conscience show Magic Mike before nine o'clock in the morning?  
I mean really.
Housewives everywhere let down their families last Tuesday morning around the country.  No house work was done.  I'm sure children were bribed with sodas, candy, and quite possibly ice cream cones, all in the name of Channing Tatum.  And if Channing doesn't float your boat, don't forget about this guy...

Pinterest

So yeah.  No laundry.  No dishes.  No nothing.  I blame Showtime.  But then as I was convincing myself to change the channel, because what kind of woman sits at home and watches Magic Mike before nine am, this happened on the WE channel:

Pinterest

Come on people!  Now, here was the dilemma.  Scrap all TV, turn on CNN, and listen to the pundits and talking heads drone on about something important and government related?  OR, keep switching channels back and forth to watch my favorite parts of both movies, not bothering with house work, or breakfast, or even trying to clean myself up before preschool pick up?
I'm sure you know what I choose.
So I ask you, what would you have done in this situation?  I mean clearly I took this as a sign that a higher power was telling me that I had more important things to worry about other than laundry. I took it as a sign that the universe wanted me to enjoy myself.  Because I was basically presented with enough "Hey, girl" material to last a lifetime.
And in case you were wondering, today was more of the same, because this was on:

Pinterest
Awesome.

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