Follow on Bloglovin> Be Mini Couture

My attempt at household inspiration

I see all kinds of sweet plaques of inspiration, quotes, and passages for people’s homes that folks post on Facebook or Pinterest.

Gone are the needlepoint cross stitched framed hangings of “Home Sweet Home.” Not that people don’t have those, it’s just different now.

So I thought I would hop on the band wagon and get something endearing for our home.

Here’s the plaque:

So nice, right?

I showed it to Emma.

This is what she told me when she looked at it:

Douchey kids and parents without a sense of humor.

I am pretty nice. I am. Ask folks. But I do bottle up my frustrations. So I’m smiling on the outside, and inside, I’m shaking my head going , ‘what the fuck?’  WHAT in THEEE FUCK are you thinking people?

Okay, here goes. Deep breath.

Do you lie to your kids? YES! We all do people. Our mom shaming craze is taking over Facebook. Woo hoo. I love a funny joke. I am the queen of self deprecation. I will dance around in a leotard wearing a turban if it makes you laugh.

But if you don’t think when I confess things I do behind my children’s backs isn’t funny- that’s okay. I guess. But I guess we won’t be friends. And that’s okay too. I mean, how do you NOT laugh at such honesty from moms?

Poor Somewhat Sane Mom got in some trouble from some ass-holey trolls who said she was a mean mom, a liar, a bitch, she needed to go grocery shopping, they felt sorry for her kids. Whatever.

Wow. All over a granola bar. A fucking granola bar. You say there are no more in the box. Eat one behind their back. No biggy. A unicorn isn’t going to drop dead somewhere people. Tinkerbell isn’t going to die because you told a fib to your kids.

Here’s a fib I tell my kids. Put your tooth under your pillow so the Tooth Fairy can come and bring you a dollar.

Yeah. That is called a LIE folks. Do you tell your kids- “put your tooth under your pillow so I can trip over random objects in the dark while you sleep and try to shove a dollar under your sleeping little melon without waking you up.” Huh, do you?

Lighten up people.

When you see a splayed out opossum on the road with it’s entrails on the concrete out like sausage and meatballs, do you say, “Wow, sucks to be that fella. Must have hurt real bad when the front end of a large moving vehicle crushed his insides and caused massive injuries and bleeding.” Huh, do you?  Or do you say, “that little opossum is sleeping with someone’s ground hamburger next to them.”

Do you see my point here?

Okay, I would also like to address the assholey little crotch fruit of other people that like to go around kicking, smacking or just spewing their little demon antics on every one.

When your kid hauls off and hits another kid, do you stay standing 10 feet away and say, “hey, let’s not hit, okay?” Or do you run on over to your uterus spawn and take his arm and say, “knock it off! Apologize or we are leaving!” Huh, do  you?

Just asking. Because I see a lot of just parenting from the sidelines. When my kids would do shitty behavior, especially around the age of when shitty behavior is rampant- translation- preschool years through elementary on through middle school…. (ha ha, I’m kidding)… I would get up in their grill and make sure they knew that I was on to them.

Are parents afraid of hurting their kid’s feelings? Are they afraid that if they blow it off in front of other parents those parents will somehow not notice the douchey behavior of the other kid?

Don’t raise a Nellie.

I don’t know.

So there you have it people. My rant on people who parent without a sense of humor and assholey uterus spawn whose parents enable their assholey-ness.

I can only save the world so many folks at a time. If you need a funny intervention or a wake-up call regarding your kid, just message me and I’ll slap some sense into you.

The most random post ever- but also back to school stuff.

Right now my brain is like Steven Tyler’s testicles. I can’t imagine there is anything going on in there that makes sense or hasn’t been deadened by drugs. Oh wait- I don’t do drugs… so there proves my randomness. My brain is healthy, not some 70 year old’s scrotum sac.

The kids go back to school tomorrow. It’s a gorgeous day outside. I’m feeling a writer’s block. Or maybe I’m just constipated. I can’t tell which.

There’s the angel on my shoulder saying, “Those sweet children are off in the world again. Getting on that school bus to an instution of their peers and authorities that will shape their minds and mold them towards their future.”

Then there’s the devil on my other shoulder saying, “Sweet cheese and rice,  those urchins are outta here! Let’s watch Vampire Diaries and throw away all their shit!”

Well, it’s going to be a combination of the two.

I’m going to watch some Vampire Diaries. A guilty pleasure of mine, okay, not so guilty, that I will not let Emma watch. Yes, she gets away with a lot of things on Youtube and movies (I’ve let her watch Bridesmaids with me and she cracked up, don’t judge) but, the sex and crazed adolescence of Vampire Diaries is something I’d  like to preserve her innocence of for a little while longer.

I am going to clean under their beds and in their closets. The 12 year old still has bins of Polly Pockets and Littlest Pet Shop in her closet. Not to mention the oodles and oodles of Bitty Baby clothing and American Girl accessories. Those will all go in sacred storage. When she moves out, I will have a  room in the house dedicated to dolls and cats so I will bring it out of storage for display. McSweetie doesn’t know this yet- but it’s going to happen. Therefore I’m keeping all things American Girl. Okay, I’m not really going to have a room dedicated to dolls. I’m keeping them for my future grandchildren. I will be having more cats though. This is certain.

Where was I…. oh yes, Steven Tyler’s balls… no wait… not that. Oh yeah, kids back to school.

SO this is how it’s going to go. The kids will go back to school. I will get some light house work done. I will watch whatever the fuck I want to on TV and not have to tolerate Spongebob, Adventure Time or Gravity Falls. I will get a Frappuccino at Starbucks and lick the whipped cream off by myself and not have to share it. I will go to the store, Target, Sephora, Whole Foods… whatever… and take my own sweet damn time. No whining, no begging. None of that. Only I can whine or beg. With myself.

So here’s some pics of my sweet chillins’  off to school years ago:

This is my list of things to do this week:

Namaste bitches.

My kids are funny- Part Deux

Does me saying Part Deux in the title remind you of that Charlie Sheen movie? Yeah, me too. I should wear a head band or something.

In this installment of, ‘my kids are funnier than your kids’, cuz face it, they are. I have tried to put on paper (okay computer) what conversations have happened recently. There’s really too many to mention. They are THAT funny. But I will try to keep up. If anything, this is like an entry into their baby book for their grandparent’s sake. I understand if it doesn’t really interest you. Yes, YOU- perfectly nice stranger that takes the time to read my ramblings. Okay-

Having a conversation about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes with my kids: (because who doesn’t do this?? I mean, come on.)

Owen in defense of the guy he only knows from the Mission Impossible movies- “that’s not nice to divorce someone. Why would she divorce him. He’s in cool movies.”

Me- “Well sweetie, he  believes in aliens and he’s a little bit of a weirdo. He was probably very controlling of her and not very nice.”

Emma (using the opportunity to incorporate aliens in the conversation) “Quick grab the tin foil, the aliens are calling. Do as I say woman.”

Me- “let me guess, this is your impression of Tom Cruise being demanding to Katie Holmes?”

Emma- “Yep”

***

Emma tonight- “It’s probably a party with beer pong, strippers and tequila shots” (her describing a night of debauchery my husband was unable to attend with his guy friends)

Me startled and feigning dismay “How on earth do you know about all those things my dear??”

Emma- “I only learned it all from you!”

SNAP! <<cough Well I NEVER!! cough, cough>>

***

Owen at tuck in- “Mom, do you ever fart in the toilet?”

Me- “Uhm, all the time, that’s where you do your business.” (Who DOESN”T fart in the toilet?)

Owen- “Yeah, but farting in a toilet echos like farting in a bowl.”

Me- “That’s because it is a bowl dear. Not a bowl like in the kitchen, but a big ceramic bowl of water in the bathroom.”

pauses

Me- “How would you know what it sounds like to fart in a bowl?”

Owen- “After eating chips once, when the bowl was empty, I sat on it and farted.”

Ba da bump. Thank you. Thank you. Thankyouverymuch.

Tune in next week when Owen yells, “Hey BEYOTCH, get in here” to the dog when she’s outside barking at the neighbors.

I’ll take extra cheese with that ham please.

Mirror Mirror on the wall, whose hoo-ha is fairest of them all?

And I’m not talking about what you think I’m talking about. Wait. What do you think I’m talking about?

This isn’t about childbirth, sex (I lie, it’s always about sex) or menses. Menses- did I just remind you of your 8th grade health teacher?

This is about fancy vaginas. Blinged, groomed vaginas. Or hoohas. Or ladies’ gardens. There’s your every day ho-hum Brazilian wax, Nair- if you don’t mind the vapors, hedge trimmers, and also vagina brightening. Yes- vagina brightening. Could we have a ‘hell no’? Thank you.

The Bearded Iris is kind of an expert in the ladies hygiene department. She’s a vagina do-it-herselfer. No fancy Brazilians for this lady, just get out the super industrialized afro Nair and she goes to town in her own bathroom. Door locked of course to protect from the littles walking in and being scarred for life. I often read her blog for such tips- you should too.

There’s so much out there about vaginas. Okay- pause- sorry Lisa Brown, I’m just going to call it a hoo-ha. Call me juvenile, it’s not like I’m on the congressional floor.

An ad in India is getting criticism for implying that a woman’s genitals are prettier if they are brighter. I think they’re pretty if they’re just clean.

Vagina Brightening Indian TV ad

We can get our anuses bleached and now our vaginas brightened. Isn’t that great ladies? Isn’t that just what you always wished for? My whole private area is ready for it’s closeup like Gloria Swanson in a fancy turban.

I still remember those ads when I was a kid of the Massengill mom and daughter walking on the beach. ‘Sometimes I don’t feel fresh, down there, mom, what do I do?” My answer would be- go take a shower.

But you know it’s more fun selling us stuff that makes us feel like we’re doing our part. Like we’re creating a pH balanced wonderland.

Thanks to Jennifer Love Hewitt for her book on how to snag a man with a blinged out snatch. Or something like that. It’s not the exact title but you get the idea. How’s that working out for you Jenny Love? What engagement are you on? Such a pretty girl, she’s doesn’t need to hot glue sequins to her labia.

We all know what childbirth can do to the nether regions. It makes it look like a gordita.

I’ve asked my husband if he would like anything different about my parts. Does my labia hang down too low? Is my garden hair bothering him? He’s never really answered me. It’s not like he’s groomed like a Chippendales dancer himself. Does it really matter? I mean, he just wants to do me, call it good and have a beer, right? Now he has to worry about, not just when I ask him, ‘do these jeans push up my muffin top?’, but ‘does this shower gel make my hoo-ha glow?’

Don’t even talk to me about vaginal rejuvination surgery. OH PLEASE! Because the episiotomy and stitches weren’t fun enough!

Fuck you vag rejuvenation inventor! I’m just worried about not passing gas during foreplay, now I have to worry if my vag is rejuvenated enough to charm my hubs.

Well guess what? I can charm my McSweetie with my saggy boobies. I flash him on his way out the door for work. I pretend he’s thrown some beads at me and I lift up my t-shirt. Puts a smile on his face before his long commute to work.

So there you go. Ladies- don’t let media and marketing make you feel like your hoo-ha isn’t all that. Because guess, what? It’s all that and then some. Like Julia Roberts said in Eat, Pray, Love- our guys think they’ve won the lottery when they go to bed with us.

My hoo-ha is a lottery of sorts. McSweetie hopes he gets lucky.

Cheers.

The Music Video

I’ve been reading the soft porn book 50 Shades of Grey about domination, kinky sex, and everything you don’t want your parents to know you are reading. Whew, is it hot in here??

If you’ve read it, you know how, uhm, steamy it is. Steamy? Geeze, that’s putting it lightly!! It’s like jungle steamy, humidifier steamy, boiling noodles steamy.

The other day I had to put it down because I think my cheeks were flushed and the kids came home from school.

I will be honest. I haven’t finished it yet. I feel dirty reading it when the children are home.

So this is me during the day whenever I get a chance on my own to read it. I incorporate chores, Daniel Craig, some subliminal thoughts- you’ll be surprised, and how I really just can’t put the book down. Unless of course, my kids are home! Then I hide it under the couch cushions.

Please keep in mind- I’m a goof ball and by no means take any of this seriously.

Disclaimer-

I’m a happily married woman who has no problem with vanilla sex. Thank you.

I know- more than you needed to know.

Enjoy!

Beauty advice that you shouldn’t follow from me.

Here’s the thing- I love me some product. Put me in a Sephora store and let me run free. I could spend hours in there. I get this crazy high from the product smell. The florescent lights. The colors and product to dabble with. I smile and act like I know what I’m doing. Nobody bothers me. I don’t feel intimidated. It’s a playground! It’s like a little Julie Andrews- hills are alive- moment I feel each time.

I should just go to cosmetology school. I could do hair, nails, facials, you name it! Well, I THINK I can. There’s a difference of what I THINK I can do, and what I actually SHOULD do.

Things I SHOULDN’T

Let’s start with 7th grade:

You TOO can have golden locks!!

Sun In

You know you did it. It didn’t matter what your natural hair color was. The temptation of those cute beach girls lightening their hair in the commercial was too much to resist. How easy it was to just spray on the stuff- and Voila! Orange hair. Or straw blond. Not strawberry blond. STRAW blond. Like hay. Dry and yellow. Whichever. Guys used it too <<cough McSweetie cough>>.

Ogilvie Home Perm

How many times I made my mom do this god awful process. Hey- perms were IN back in the 80s! Who DIDN’T want body and luscious waves? Who DIDN’T want a poodle perm? COME ON! Sad thing was- my hair was so hard to curl, it only lasted about a week. And the SMELL. Oh the smell…

If I could ONLY have looked like this!! Luckily, I have no actual pictures documenting MY hair don't.

Adult beauty mistakes:

DIY Hair color

Within the last 10 years, I went against better sense and colored my hair at home. My cool blond tresses have never been the same. The box of color was on the Target clearance end-cap. Tell me Sarah Jessica Parker doesn’t just pick up her hair color at Target. Right?  I followed the instruction booklet closely. The color was something like Champagne blond on the label. I looked more like Blush champagne when I was done. Like Arbor Mist Blond. A little on the strawberry side. A little flat too. It killed my highlights and made me really reddish blond. If that is even a color. I went to my regular gal and got a foil to break it up a bit. She laughed at me and made me Girl Scout swear never to do it again. Anyone out there who does color their hair from a box- I’m jealous.

Frownies- WTF? Huh!

Just look at this picture.

Yes, that's my forehead.

They are these paper sticky things you put on your ‘frown lines’ and it takes the place of Botox. Trains your facial muscles to relax so you don’t furrow and squint unnecessarily. Are they working? Well, it’s like a treadmill, it might work if you use them. But they kind of feel weird and hurt when you peel them off and you need to wear them up to 3 hours at a time or overnight. When am I going to go 3 straight hours with paper triangles stuck to my face?? And at night, I always ‘forget’ (translation, I’m too embarrassed to wear them in  front of the hubs). So they just sit in my drawer collecting dust.

Be careful of fruit acid peels. When it says not to use more than 2 times a week. Follow that rule. If you don’t. You will look like you went skiing with goggles on a sunny day.

Fruit peel or idiot who didn't use sunscreen?

Waxing-

I wax my eyebrows successfully each month. Remember when I told you I didn’t wax anywhere else?

Well, I decided to shave instead. BIG MISTAKE.

Let’s see how I can put this.

If you trim DOWN THERE with just a regular razor for your legs, it gets a little hedgehoggy. Maybe waxing would eliminate the stubble. But right now, the grow-out is pretty prickly. It seems that after writing my blog, Wax On, Wax Off- I almost felt like I could challenge myself and see what could be done DOWN THERE. Well, never again. I’m leaving it alone. It’s not itchy though. Yet. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the razor that was a month old sitting in my shower.

Oh look- it's my vajajay!

THINGS I WON”T TRY-

Anal bleaching- there is no reason I would do this myself or pay someone to do this for me. My anus has never been the same since child birth. I will leave it at that. I’m not auditioning to be in a porno in the near future, so it will stay its original color I was born with.

Eye lash extensions. I might get this done by a professional. I won’t do it myself. I don’t have a steady surgeons hand. I would look like Tammy Faye if I tried this. I don’t even think you can get your hands on the stuff if you aren’t a professional.

Eyebrow tinting.

Bird Poop beauty masks- yeah in Japan or somewhere they take bird poop- I’m hoping it’s special birds and not just pigeon shit. Not that it makes it better! They use the poop in beauty masks.  Anyway- Asian women are on a quest for white, porcelain skin, and there’s an ingredient in the poop that lightens skin.

Leaches- yep. This is sort of making a ‘come back’. Apparently, Demi Moore does this. Demi Moore also smoked some bad salvia and ended up in the hospital. I’m not taking beauty advice from Demi any time soon.

Botox- okay, except for the lady who injected beef fat in her own face- who would ever do this on their own? My Beef with Botox I’m not saying I’m not doing Botox ever. I’m just not doing it MYSELF!

Piercings, tongue splitting or scarring. Just don’t even go there..

So there you have it. Confessions of a not quite Beauty School Dropout. Not bad, right? Okay, maybe just a little…

Oh, look- under there. Under where? Haha, made you say underwear!!

What does your underwear say about you?

For starters- let’s hope it says you do the laundry and that it’s clean.

 

Undergarments. Yay or nay? I love my undergarments. But I found out (dun da dun) not everyone does!! Some of my friends don’t even wear underwear!! EWW!! So I’ve decided to compile four groups of women and their philosophies about undergarments. I am using the Mad Men ladies to illustrate my point. I mean, because… well, why not??!! They are fine ladies and back then in the 60s, fashion was really going through a lot of changes. But I will also sort of use a time machine to introduce things like thongs and SPANX. Since they didn’t have those back then. They still wore belts with their feminine products for crying out loud!

 

 

 

Then we have our undergarment categories:

Commando (that’s no underwear, BTW)

Thong

Granny brief

Boy short with lace

Here is how I think the girls match up to the underwear or lack of.  Decide who you match up with in YOUR undergarment preferences. Can you guess who I am?

Joan- Commando. This girl is not to be bothered with visible panty lines or any extra fabric for that matter. She wears SPANX slips under her pencil skirts and cocktail dresses. She is sleek and smooth. On weekends, she wears peddle pushers and silk negligees. Commando. Totally. She is fearless and knows her shit. This girl would not be caught dead in yoga pants or anything else like from our time. And she would NEVER let her man see her stuff herself into her SPANX either. (ahem, nothing to see here, move along. NOT that I’VE done that, oh no. Maybe once.)

This is oh so Joanie. AND it still allows for Commando.

Betty- Thong. She is stuck in the middle. She probably would love to go Commando but thinks it would be unsanitary. She doesn’t want to soil more garments than she should. And she’s such a twig she doesn’t need the support of any garments to hold in flab.  She opts for zero panty lines, but with some crotch coverage, just in case, for you know, female stuff.

We’re not talking G-string here. Still demure enough for Betty.

Peggy- Granny briefs. Peggy’s strict Catholic upbringing has instilled in her that good girls wear ginormous underwear. She likes the security it gives her. Girdles and support hose will help with the panty lines. She needs coverage all the time, 24/7. Despite her struggles to be ‘one of the guys’ at the office professionally, she still asserts her feminine side and isn’t shy of feeling sexy, despite the granny pants she has underneath her pencil skirt. She’s uber confident that way.

Comfortable and soft. Perfect for Peggy types.

Trudy- Boy shorts with lace. Trudy is complex. She wants everything without coming across needy, bitchy or slutty. Comfort, no panty lines, sex appeal, coverage. She’s not just a little housewife. She needs to keep her husband interested. She needs to know that in case of an emergency she’ll have coverage where she needs it. (What emergency? you ask.) Well, like what if she sneezes and looses a little bladder control. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know what kegels are.

Comfy AND alluring, dontcha think?

So there you have it.

My underwear philosophies. To each her own, right?

Dear McSweetie

Oh, that is the cute name I call my dear husband. He’s like McDreamy on Grey’s Anatomy, but he’s mine and even cuter than Patrick Dempsey. Which is hard to be, cuz that Patrick is FINE.

When I get the urge to write something like this, I pretty much drop everything and do it. Not always do I feel like a warm and devoted housewife. Often I feel like a cold-hearted bitch with a bone to pick. And by bone, I mean big ol’ fish to fry, burr in my craw, chip on my shoulder the size of Lisa Rinna’s top lip. SOO, I am in a good mood and was thinking fondly of the ol’ ball and chain. So I thought I would dedicate this little ditty to him.

Dear McSweetie-

It’s been 15 years that we have been married come this August. I can’t believe how time flies. And although you are not perfect by any means. And by ‘not perfect’, I mean, have no clue how to empty the dishwasher or load it.  You pretend you still don’t know where stuff goes in the cupboards even though we’ve lived here ten years, and things haven’t changed really- at all. You don’t know how to put your dirty socks IN the clothes hamper. You can’t seem to get your beard and neck hairs out of the sink or away from MY toothbrush. You seem to miss the garbage can while clipping your toenails. BUT- even with ALL those little flaws, I thank you for putting up with MY flaws.

Yes- shocker. I have them. You know this, but THEY might not know this. (THEY, are my blog readers honey, pretend we have an audience.) Okay- so here goes. Thank you for not picking on me for the following:

Wearing socks to bed every night of the year (even in summer except when it’s reallllly hot, like 85 degrees or something). Remember my orange socks of our early wedded years? I should’ve kept those. They were so thick and cozy. And orange.

Wearing the rattiest, saggiest pajamas to bed every night. I can’t sleep in the nude OR one of the various Victoria Secret nighties you’ve bought for me over the years. Sorry those only see day light when I bring them with us if you and I go away for an outing overnight that involves a hotel. Hotel nooky = sassy night gowns. Wearing that at home would mean that I would have to go through the trouble of changing out of them before morning came. Because getting the kids ready for school in satin and lace is just gross and weird. And itchy. So I’m not going to even bother. PJs it is. Sorry.

Wearing the same pair of lounge pants three days in a row  and not wearing any makeup despite the Sephora store that is practically our bathroom. Geesh, I’m lazy.

Never mentioning that my legs feel like a cactus since I haven’t shaved since September.

Not complaining over the bajillion products and lotion bottles that cover our bathroom counter top.

Having to see my lady bits when I birthed our children. I know you asked not to be down there. Cuz being ‘down there’ when they’re conceived is really different than when those watermelons are coming down the pike. There’s poop, there’s goo, there’s tearing.  Oh lawd, even I didn’t look when they offered the mirror. So I’m sorry. That must’ve been real hard for you. I’m also sorry I didn’t let you play with my milk jugs after the babies were born. I know I must’ve resembled someone out of Hustler magazine, but considering my boobs felt like flesh that had been twisted in a vice that was so sensitive even air hurt when it touched them- you didn’t have a chance.

Thank you for letting me complain how messy the garage is, but not saying anything to me about how ransacked the pantry looks.

Not complaining when I’ve been home all day, didn’t make dinner, and then ask you to pick something up.

You give me the remote.

Pretending that you don’t realize how many shoes and purses I actually have.

And who would have thought, the kids call you the 'goofy one'!

That’s all I can think of for now.  I’m sure I will add to this list soon. Despite the fact my flaws are so few and far between

xoxo

Love,

Hot babe

(okay, that isn’t what he calls me, I just think it’s what he thinks of me)

Wax on; wax off.

What’s the first rule of writing? Write about what you know. OKAAAY then. I’m writing about me. Moi, myself and I.

My friend over at  You Know it Happens At Your House Too sent out this ‘challenge’ or ‘assignment’ if you will.

Fifteen things your readers don’t know about you. Really? Fifteen? Isn’t that a lot? I mean, if I use up all fifteen, then what will I have to write about tomorrow? OH wait… PMS… Just kidding! Sort of…

Okay here goes.

1) I like that song The Climb by Miley Cyrus. I know- dippy. But the lyrics are really good. I get kinda teary thinking about certain struggles like paying the credit card bills, sticking to my non-dairy-no meat diet, wondering if my children will appreciate everything I’ve done for them.  So I want to stand in some meadow belting this song out at the top of my lungs. I also want to stand in a meadow and spin like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music— maybe, that’s my #2.

2) I want to spin on a mountainside meadow and sing The Hills Are Alive, With the Sound of Music. I mean, WHO DOESN’T?

3) I don’t wax anywhere except my eyebrows. I mean, ANYWHERE. Is that bad? Please tell me I am not the only woman on the planet that doesn’t wax her business. Like Tina Fey said on Saturday Night Live a few seasons back;  “Women used to have a garden down there the size of a New York City slice of pizza.”  Let’s not go into any more detail, but seriously? One more thing for me to groom? I think not.

4) I spent my senior year spring break getting my wisdom teeth out. All four. Impacted. I was a nerd. But hey, I got it out of the way.

5) I kind of miss the way my kids smell when they were little. Now they just have body odor and morning breath. I like the ‘after-nap’ smell of when they were 2 years old. Kinda sweaty behind the neck and sweet and peach fuzzy. I don’t miss the toddler years, but sometimes I just wish they could smell like that again. And take naps. And not talk back. And do their homework.

6) I only have two houseplants and they are barely alive.

7) I have a horrible fear of heights. Even thinking of looking out a skyscraper windows makes my palms sweat.

8) I met my husband at a funeral. NOOOW, don’t think he was like Will Farrell in Wedding Crashers, “sad women are soo horny” Eww. No! Our families were friends and his grandmother passed away so we had all attended the funeral. He didn’t ask me out, but we were introduced.

9) I have never mowed our lawn. I don’t do yard work. I don’t really do housework. What DO I DO?

10) I’m one of those people that loves to do Karaoke and think I can sing, but really I can’t. I pretend to pull it off with STAGE PRESENCE. Sell it… sell it… I think I will vlog a Karaoke performance for you. THAT would be AWESOME.

11) I used to do this thing when I was a teenager where I would use a big word, that I didn’t really know what it meant, my friend Stacey would be like, ‘that’s not what that means’. I would be all back at her, ‘that is so esoteric of you’.

12) I want to be a figure skater. Or a Vegas show girl. I want to be anything that requires lots of makeup, glitter, and fishnets. I used to act out Olympic figure skating finals events in my bedroom. I can’t skate. Other than that, I think my chances are good for a career as a drag queen.

13) When I was 4 years old I wanted to marry Shaun Cassidy. I watched The Hardy Boys and I was sure that 14 year age difference meant that he would wait for me. A Do Run Run, A Do Run Run.

Parker was pretty darn cute too. What's better- those collars or high-waisted pants?

14) I hated zucchini when I was a kid, but would love my mom’s cream of zucchini soup.

15) My husband and I honeymooned in New England. We had lobster, clam chowder and stayed in Bed & Breakfasts. Who were we kidding? Our marriage was tested immediately. We survived 10 days of driving long hours in the car- him not asking for directions, me insisting we needed to stop for Maine Coon cat souvenirs. We stayed in Inns with no room service and squeaky bed frames. Why we didn’t go to Mexico and sit beside a pool getting drinks brought to us and endless room service, I don’t know. But that was 15 years ago. And we would do it again. But this time we would have GPS to guide us through the endless and confusing highway system of downtown Boston. We would do it, and we would ENJOY IT!

Well that was fun. ONLY 15?? Gosh I could keep going…