Two Romeos and a Mob of Juliets

Valentine’s Day may be a few days past, but testosterone is still in the air.

Did I say testosterone?

I meant to say, love.


At any rate, my two boys have been in full-throttle paramour mode, with the unfettered spirit of Valentine’s Day lingering.

The younger one bashfully leaving anonymous gifts of stuffed animals and chocolate to a special someone before sprinting off in the opposite direction.

The older one brazenly standing outside, waiting for the bus, come hell or hypothermia.

One gifting with presents.

The other gifting with presence.

One shy.

One bold.

Very bold.

With his less-than-subtle, sudden need for fresh air on a rainy, 35-degree morning, it leaves little question to the motives of Romeo Number One.

Every day before and after school, this child stands outside at the bus stop.

Did I mention he doesn’t even ride the bus?

Let me tell ya, this boy has quite the collection of girls.

One minute, he’s going out for ice cream and a movie with one girl.

The next thing I know, he’s talking on the phone for hours…

With a different girl.

And then the next day, he’s eagerly waiting to escort yet another girl to/from the bus stop.

It’s good to have options, right?

Meanwhile, he avidly avoids Stalker Girl, who freaks the hell out of him with her steady stream of obsessively psychotic texts throughout the day.

But getting back to my sweet younger son.

Romeo Number 2 spent the day before Valentine’s Day freaking out over whether to get a card or gift for a certain girl that he thinks he likes.

Did I mention that she used to like him…

Back when he didn’t think he liked her very much?

That’s right.

She liked him first when he didn’t know if he liked her.

And now he likes her.

He thinks.

Which left him with a dilemma.

To buy a card or not to buy?

Or get a gift or give her nothing?

To tell, or not to tell?

Torn between craving the glorious attention…

Or hiding under his desk like a turtle retracting into its shell.

The joys of girl trouble and tween issues. 

It’s soooo complicated.

Both of my boys spend hours each morning in front of the mirror like mini Adonises, getting their hair just right…

All while protesting showers and forgetting to put on deodorant.

Ah, the sweetness of childhood amour.

Paired up with the joy of adolescence, it’s a sure recipe for…




Stinky love?

As in Love Stinks, that song from The Wedding Singer?

Except I highly doubt Adam Sandler was singing about adolescent hygiene.

Teenage lust.

Isn’t it great?

Oh, but it gets better!

Romeo Number One will soon be trying out for School Mascot!

Which is technically part of the school’s Spirit Team.

Which means being part of the Cheerleading Squad.

As in, being the only guy among all those cheerleaders. 


I think not.

Love is still in the air, and my two Romeos are on the loose.

Perhaps we ought to move to Utah and start a polygamist colony…

Love is still in the air...

Love is still in the air…

Beeping Blasphemy


It sounds a lot like nein, the German word for no.

Did you know that the number nine is considered unlucky in Japan?

It’s true.

They pronounce it ku.

And apparently, it sounds exactly like the Japanese words for agony and torture.


Interestingly enough, nine is also the precise number of smoke detectors in my house.

Why would I know this?

Because I’d been running like a crazy person from one end of the house to the other, trying to figure out the source of an intermittent, peace-assailing racket.

That’s why.

Out of the blue, a nefarious, telltale sound echoed throughout the house.

And every thirty seconds, another beep would fill the air.

With nine smoke detectors at large, I struggled to pinpoint the source of annoyance.

It’s like that expression:

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

But in this case…

Every time a beep bleeped, I had to refrain from kicking stray stuffed animals and action figures into walls or out the window.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I dashed all over the house, from room to room, in hot pursuit.


After locating the offending noisemaker, I dragged a kitchen chair over to the entryway and extended my arm upward.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Even on my tiptoes, I couldn’t quite reach.

So I ran out to the garage and grabbed the biggest ladder I could find.

Beeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeep.

The ladder was so freaking cumbersome, I somehow managed to take out a chunk of wall as I maneuvered it through the house like a drunken firefighter, all the way from the garage and down the hall.


I’d just finished touching up paint throughout the house a day earlier.

But at last, I could finally reach high enough to smack the button and put a stop to the madness.

The next thing I knew, alarms and sirens screeched in my ear:

Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!

What the hell?

After several minutes of this repetitive ear-splitting command, I managed to wrestle the battery compartment open.

But the dead battery fell out and hit me square in the throat, as I struggled to maintain my balance on the ladder.

At least the high-decibel wailing had stopped.

I regained my balance and crammed a new battery back in before slamming the compartment shut.

And then…silence.

Sweet, sweet silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

~Happy Friday! Hope you all have a great weekend!~

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

This beeping/meeping trio may possibly be the only thing noisier than a malfunctioning smoke alarm.

Sardonically Stressed


It’s an unfortunate and undesirable side-effect of simply being alive.

Some days, it’s lemons, lemons, and more lemons.

For everyone overwhelmed with stress lately, take heart.

Here’s proof that there’s always humor, even in times of stress:


(In all fairness, it should be noted that murder is rarely doctor-prescribed.)


(Are you kidding me? Way to burst my bubble!)


(I’d be hesitant to attempt this. I mean, what if I cram one down someone’s throat, then Karma steps in and makes them spit it up…straight into my eyeball?)


(Did you know it takes 45 minutes of meditation to equal the effects of a single satisfying glass of wine? Okay, fine. I just made that up.)


(A sure sign of mastering ki breathing! Or having taken up drinking…)


(Is being eaten alive really preferable to a little stress? My guess is probably not.)


(Finally! A refreshingly drug-free solution that’s both highly effective and easy to use. What’s not to love?)


(As Henry Kissinger once said, “There cannot be a stressful crisis next week. My schedule is already full.”)


(Sure, it helps reduce stress…unless you’re prone to perfectionistic, OCD-type tendencies. In which case, coloring can actually increase your stress levels.)


(Overall, pretty good advice from a dog. But maybe just stick with the walk away part and forget about peeing all over the place. It’s just not classy.)


(Food for thought, right? Speaking of which…)


(This might be stating the obvious, but here goes: You should never be your own food source. Never. No matter how stressed you may be, this is a horrible solution.)


(I’m stressed just thinking about how true this statement is.)


(This one has become my personal life motto. It makes me happy.)

Throwing things can be great stress relief.

No, really. It’s true!

And if you need some creative ideas for what to do with all those lemons life has been tossing your way, I’ve got some excellent suggestions.

Go on, give it a try!

Feel better now?



What stress?

Ain’t nobody got time for that nonsense.

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope your weekend is relaxing, enjoyable, and stress-free. And if it’s not, I hope you always find a way to make lemonade. Or a lemon martini…~

Mortifying Modus Operandi

Don’t embarrass me!

Um, helllooo!?!

I’m not the one sitting there, scratching my crotch at the table during breakfast.

Is it my fault your school requested that parents join their child in class to help guide them through the increasingly intricate course selection process, complete with 4-year plans and endorsements?

What kind of monster do you think I am?

And what kind of horrifying feats do you think I’ll manage to pull off in the 60 minutes I’m there, anyway?

Attempt to spoon-feed you your lunch?

Or show up in fishnet stockings and skanky heels?

Or worse yet, come crashing into your classroom on roller skates…in my pajamas?

Hashtag whatever.

Or perhaps I might discuss puberty/body odor/your latest crush loudly in front of all your classmates?

Or do some sort of ridiculous robot dance while singing a cringe-worthy Justin Bieber song at the top of my lungs?

Or lick your messy desk clean?


Maybe I’ll just wait for the perfect opportunity to declare:

You got an F on that test? An F?!? That’s it. Mama gonna go all gangsta on yo ass!


As fun as these scenarios might appear in my mind…

I can’t even.

As a natural introvert, I can assure you I will not be going out of my way to even talk to anyone, let alone cause chaos.

And as a self-respecting member of society, I don’t typically speak like that.


Well, except maybe when I’m hangry.

I also wouldn’t purposely embarrass my kids, but ish happens.

Besides, if anything mortifying were to happen, consider it payback for all those unfortunate incidents where I wished for nothing more than the mercy of getting sucked into a black hole.

So just remember this:

I could be worse.

I could be much, much worse.

After all, I’m a badass black belt, dirt bike-riding, humor-writing Mom.

I’m cool AF.

Yaasss, I’m totally killin’ it.

So don’t be salty, bruh!

(Is that a thing?)

~Happy Friday! Thanks for stopping by and slinging some serious slang with me today. Have an amazing weekend!~

It's tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

It’s tough being a teenager. And an adult. Hell, life is rough for everyone.

The Video Gaming Vortex

Some things get infinitely better with time, while other things seem to do the exact opposite.

One thing’s for certain:

Time can majorly mess with dormant gaming skills.

Clearly, I haven’t been playing video games anywhere near enough lately.

I recently discovered that I now totally suck at video games.

It’s true.

I’ve somehow gotten to the point where I now lose frequently… to any and every opponent.

The horror!

Not only have I been playing poorly, but my hands actually ache afterward from the determined death-grip I inflict upon my controller.

But determination alone still doesn’t stop me from losing.

I hate losing.

And more importantly, I’m far too young to be losing this badly.

Whatever happened to the days of being a badass Video Game Master?

I used to rule Old School.

And now?

I am undisputedly the worst player in my house.

Possibly even the worst player in my neighborhood.

Okay, so that may not be entirely true.

Surely, there must be at least a handful of electronically inept 90-year-olds who would do worse.

But seriously, where did I go wrong?

Modern games have become my worst nightmare.

I used to be able to defeat every last Goomba, Koopa, and Hammer Brother in record time on my quest to rescuing Princess Toadstool from that evil jerk Bowser, who had nowhere to go but down.

Down, down, down, into the fiery lava.

Which, apparently, is where all my gaming skills have ended up.

Super Mario Galaxy makes me feel like I’d just downed a few cases of liquor and then repeatedly smacked my head into a concrete wall before hitting the power button on the console.

And let’s talk about Rainbow Road.

Notorious for being a highly challenging level on Mario Kart, it’s only gotten more complicated over the years.


Especially now, with all the nauseating, seizure-inducing graphics that cause me to barrel off into a black hole in a fit of rage from all the flashing acid-trip type effects.

Mario Kart has evolved to the point where it makes me sick to my stomach as I drive my stylishly customized kart backward, off cliffs, and straight into the oblivion of dead-last place.

Don’t get me wrong, all of these incredibly realistic 3D graphics are astonishingly impressive.

They also make me wanna hurl.

I sometimes miss the days of 2D, where I wouldn’t become nauseated from inadvertently spinning myself sick in just a matter of minutes.

I’m naturally bad with directions as it is, so I really don’t need the additional challenge of getting lost for all eternity on a convulsion-inducing level of some infuriating game.

But all is not lost.

Super Smash Bros is one of the few games I do seem to excel at lately.

I suspect this stems solely from the joy of clobbering big bullies like Donkey Kong and Ganondorf with unassumingly cute characters like Yoshi and Kirby.

But even so, there are times when I get embarrassingly decimated by a highly skilled, child-controlled Jigglypuff.

Mortifying, I tell you.

I’m compelled to blame my unimpressive losing streak on my older brother.

Sure, it was years ago, but I firmly believe that always being stuck as the dreaded Player 2 as a child clearly accounts for my overall lack of game playing time.

By the time I’d finally be about to get my turn after watching my brother play Super Mario Bros for 57 straight minutes, he’d be so pissed about (finally) losing a life on level 8-3 that he’d reset the game and start all over.

I usually had to wait until he left the house altogether to even get a turn.

I suppose there’s also the remote possibility my skills have deteriorated due to my penchant for not being able to sit still for very long.

As an adult, there’s always this overwhelming inclination to get stuff done.

No time to sit idle when there’s so much to do!

But surely that can’t be the issue here.


It probably has a lot more to do with the fact that kids are practically born with electronic devices in each hand nowadays.

Or maybe I just need to get more sleep.

At any rate, I guess this means it’s time to return to my Old School roots and start playing like a boss again so I can get back to kicking some butt.

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start…

Konami Code, help me!

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.

Mario has kept up with the times. I, on the other hand, have some serious catching up to do.

Carrots, Cheetos, and Kangaroos

Woo hoo! It’s Friday!

Oh, alright.

For those of you harboring superstitions, let’s forget about the fact that today is actually Friday the 13th.

Let’s focus instead on the fact that Valentine’s Day is just over a month away!

That’s right, it’s time to start spreading the love!

And in the spirit of Comically Quirky, I plan to accomplish this in the quirkiest way possible:

By combining the joy of poetry with my disturbingly creative motivational lunch note-writing awesomeness, of course!

Now, I don’t honestly know what I would do with a kangaroo.

Or a canoe, kazoo, or cockatoo.

But it’s the principle of the matter at stake here.

Trading something orange for something orange is cool by me…if that something happens to actually be an orange.

Not something artificially dyed a radioactive shade of orange with an assortment of health-compromising, life-shortening capabilities.

Geez, kid!

For that major lapse of judgment, you’ll be getting extra carrots in your lunch next week.

And you’d better eat them.

ALL of them.

On second thought, maybe I ought to start preparing for that kangaroo…

~Happy Friday the 13th! Hope you all have a terrific weekend!~

Purposefully Perplexed

Sometimes I have to wonder why I was put on this earth.

Well, one thing is for certain:

It sure as hell wasn’t for my domestic skills.

The world probably isn’t deficient in people who are disturbingly proficient at folding fitted sheets by rolling them into big, blobulous balls of fabric.

So that can’t possibly be it.


Is it solely for my ability to load and unload the dishwasher?

Granted, I do a commendable job of balancing creativity and efficiency by cramming the crap out of the dishwasher with my mad Tetris skills.

But I can’t imagine that could possibly be it, either.

With the start of a new year, my brain has been doing that thing again.

You know, that thing where it encourages deeper and more intense thinking about…things.

Like purpose.

And I do contemplate my purpose, from time to time.

But mostly, I just try to get through the day without major disaster, chaos, or injury.

It’s the little things, right?

But getting back to purpose.

If I sit down and think about all the things I routinely manage to accomplish in the course of a day…

Chauffeuring kids to school in a crazed frenzy?

Running/folding a dozen loads of laundry?

Pushing the vacuum around the house?

Emptying overflowing trash?

Yeah, not very inspiring.

And these things definitely don’t hold much potential in the way of achieving a sense of purpose.

Oh, well.

Some of the more promising options on my list:

Unclogging the toilet during dinner?

(Thanks, boys! Can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.)

Being used for Nerf target practice while carrying a stack of fancy plates?

(I suppose a good challenge never hurt anyone…)

Slamming baseballs over the fence to flaunt my awesomeness?

(I am pretty good at hitting things.)

Making people laugh with my offbeat humor?

(Now we’re talking!)

If I was put on this earth to share the gift of humor through my writing, I’d be most honored.

But if that’s not my true purpose, I can only hope it’s not because I’m on track to becoming the World’s Best Toilet-Unclogger.

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope the first week of the new year has been treating you well!~

What's your superpower? I mean, purpose?

What’s your superpower? I mean, purpose?

Marginal New Year’s Motivation

Happy (almost) New Year!

Speaking of the new year…

I don’t have any New Year’s resolutions.

And I’m far too exhausted from all the…fun and excitement…of 2016 to make any right now.

At any rate, here are a dozen useful pieces of New Year’s resolution advice to start the year off with a bang:


(Having realistic goals and expectations will help start the new year off right and prevent you from being an instant failure two days in to the year.)


(That’s the spirit! Way to embrace your amazing self, imperfections and all.)


(If you make any resolutions at all this coming year, this ought to be it.)


(This is a great way to take the pressure off. If you succeed in somehow bettering yourself, great. If you don’t, nothing lost. It’s a win-win!)


(Go big or go home, right? So why not aim to fail in the grandest of manners?)


(Ah, so that’s what all the fuss is about? A week-long To Do list? When you look at it that way, it really doesn’t sound so daunting.)


(What a terrific idea! Everything about it has the makings of a successful business concept.)


(For those of you with kids, it is particularly imperative to set goals that are practical, attainable, and won’t drive you to drinking in the event of miserly defeat.)


(Nothing beats the feeling of knowing that all your friends are rooting for your failure. Oh well. Who needs them, anyway? The resolutions, that is. Not the friends. Friends are good. Well, mostly.)


(Some of us struggle with being able to identify realistic goals. It happens. Fortunately, there’s always someone who’s eager to help set the record straight.)


(Hey, now! Being a smart-ass is a talent, not a bad vice that needs to be obliterated. Geez!)


(Now this I can handle! Being awesome is…well, awesome! Always choose to be awesome.)

Whether or not you end up making any resolutions for the new year, just remember this:

Stay positive, keep smiling, and always try to find the humor in whatever life throws your way.

~Happy Friday, friends! Best wishes for a bright and prosperous 2017!~

The 12 Days of Crazed Christmas Coercions: The Reboot

On the twelfth day of Christmas,

Santa’s rogue elves sent to me:

Twelve crazy boys howling in cacophony.

Okay, fine.

I have only two boys, not twelve.

But sometimes, with all the sugar-fueled insanity of the season, it’s hard to believe this chaos isn’t caused by a busload of boys.

What makes matters even more humorous is the apparent lack of understanding of what exactly it means to be “good.”

Does calling your brother a freak instead of a jerk constitute acceptable behavior?

Or what about whacking said brother over the head with a soft-covered graphic novel…instead of a baseball bat?

Is that good(ish) behavior?


Well, if nothing else, we all know by now that everything in life is subject to relativity.

On that note…

Presenting a dozen thoughts that have gone through my head (or actually come out of my mouth) during holiday seasons over the years.

1) You really think you’ve been good enough to even receive coal!?! Ha!

2) Define “good.”

3) I told Santa you thought you’ve been good this year. He cracked a rib laughing.

4) One word for you: Krampus

5) Santa is watching. Well yeah, I guess technically that means Krampus is watching, too…

6) Fine. Be naughty. Santa would be happy to save himself a trip!

7) The moment you stop believing is the moment you start receiving socks and underwear. Remember that!

8) No, I’m not sure why Santa likes cookies so much. Yes, he’s a “big dude.”

9) No, we will not create a special chimney for Santa. He can go through the door like every other respectable human being.

10) Sorry, no. Putting you in time out will not cement my place alongside you on the naughty list.

11) One more word and we’ll pack up your toys and donate them all to kids in need. Seriously, knock it off! Or we’ll donate you, too.

12) Yeah, I know you’re having visions of sugar plums. Visions of throwing them at my head, perhaps? (Come on. We all know nobody actually eats those things.)

~Ho, ho, ho! Happy Thursday and Merry Christmas to you all, my wonderful friends! May your holiday be full of joy and happiness.~

Santa knows a lie when he hears one, so don't bother trying to fool him. Bribery, on the other hand, just might do the trick...

Santa knows a lie when he hears one, so don’t bother trying to fool him. Bribery, on the other hand, just might do the trick…

Reindeer Games

‘Twas the week before Christmas, and all through Santa’s workshop,

 The reindeer were busy plotting mischief and mayhem.

It’s true, Santa gets most of the glory.

But what about those hard-working reindeer?

They shoulder the bulk of the burden, carrying the weight of Santa and his gazillion tons of toys all around the world in a single night.

That’s no small feat, and it’s little wonder those creatures love their reindeer games so much.


(The jolly ol’ dude’s weight has always been a delicate topic, but the reindeer aren’t known for their diplomacy.)


(Hauling Santa’s donut-shoveling corpse around is more strenuous than hauling 386 sacks of toys at once.)


(A GPS can only get you so far, especially when the reindeer have been tampering with it. While this mishap may not be the best example of a good time for all, it probably breaks up the monotony of  a long night.)


(Who can blame these reindeer for wanting to make the most of this opportunity for mischief? Although frankly, I’m surprised Santa doesn’t get himself stuck every single time he crams himself down one of those things.)


(Reindeer work hard and deserve a break! Which evidently involves partying hard and accidentally impaling Santa’s elves…)


(Modern technology has done wonders in taking a huge load off Santa’s back.)


(I believe I can fly! I believe I can touch the… oops, the sky is the other direction! Well, so much for that…)


(While the burden of hauling a five billion-ton sleigh falls on the reindeer, Santa gets his workout by sucking it all in and repeatedly diving in and out of strangers’ chimneys in the middle of the night.)


(Your reindeer are begging you to put that donut down! In the spirit of the holidays, don’t be such a glutton!)


(In such a role reversal, do the reindeer now hop out of the sleigh to slide down chimneys and deliver the toys? Or does Santa still have to do that, in addition to his newly assigned duty of pulling the sleigh?)


(This is one of the sounds of the season, surely?)


(Hey, if the shoe fits… Ho, ho, hole! Merry Christmas!)

~Happy Friday, friends! If you’re looking for an inspirational (and humorous!) new blog to follow, please check out Playing by My Own Rules. Have an awesome weekend!~