LOL Tuesday: What’s The Craziest Lie You’ve Ever Told To Save your Hide?

For me, it was in high school. There was a big, burly, tough talking girl who scared the wits out of me. One day, standing outside, I couldn’t help but notice the outlandish makeup job she’d done to her face. It was so horrendous, I couldn’t peel my gaze away. She caught me staring, walked over and literally got in my face.

“What are you looking at?” she growled.

I gulped, feeling sweat break out everywhere. “I like your eyeliner. What kind is it?”

You’d think I had told her she would be the next queen of the world. Her transformation was instant and my life was spared. ¬†ūüôā

Share your lie…

The Latest Nonsense In My Life

Life wouldn’t be the same without those odd moments, would it? Well, I’m having my fair share this week:

Being tortured with Christmas music at work. Celebrating Christmas in July. For Pete’s sake, one is enough to handle!

I saw Elvis. Then fast-paced it around the corner so he didn’t see me cracking up at his slicked down, shiny, black dyed hair, and ginormous sideburns. He asked if we had sunglasses. lol

Our newer model washing machine tries to fake me out and pretend it’s done. Clothes don’t rinse and I have to set it for redo. It also makes a haunted weezy sound. Where was this thing before we got it?

Our Dish box decided it had had enough when my husband turned the power off to fix a light. We lost all of our saved movies and shows: Days of our Lives, Mountain Men, Alone. And the pause doesn’t work. Now I miss stuff when I have to get up to go to the bathroom. Grrr And the light still doesn’t work! 

I thought I’d stay in my pj’s all day. Why not? Of course UPS decides to show up today to deliver that ring I accidentally bought. Really!

I’ve got a chicken baking in the oven. Smells good. Well, it did. I put it in a pan with no cover thinking to cover it with foil, but no! I’m out of foil! Now it’s splattering all over inside. Every loud pop and sizzle sends another bout of smoke into the air, and now my house is hazy! The air is on so I can’t even open up to air the house out!

I started the day thinking I would post random, silly polls. I quickly changed my mind. All that time wasted! You’re welcome.

That’s it for this particular moment. The week isn’t over yet, though. Perish the thought.

How Getting Caught Picking My Nose Made Me A Better Mom


I imagine our bedtime rituals were no different than anyone else’s with young kids: “Get your pajamas on,” “Brush your teeth,” “Go to the bathroom,” hugs and kisses all around as you tuck them in. Then, finally, the gift of all gifts – me time. Ahhh.

Flopping your tired self onto the recliner, you lazily pull the lever back and prop your legs up, feeling that amazing rush as blood flows back into your weary legs. You sigh the sigh of the contented. Now then, where’s the clicker. Crap! It’s on the couch cushion. You heave a deep sigh and shake your head, giving kudos to those past TV watchers who had to walk all the way to the box itself. ‘Course, you think with a wicked grin, they only had three channels so they probably didn’t have to get up much. Snort.

Settling yourself once again, you suddenly hear whispers and giggles coming from the other room. “Hey you in there, it’s bedtime. Stop talking and go to sleep!” More giggles. You smile at their sweet sound, then get annoyed five minutes later when it’s still going on. Calgon, take me away!

Here’s where the story becomes all mine…

Finally, all is quiet. My body is nearly fooled into thinking it’s sleeping and I’m staring dazedly at the TV. Suddenly I hear little feet pounding and a burst of laughter. It’s too loud. Those kids aren’t in bed! Turning my head I see their little heads pearing out of the bedroom door. Caught, they laugh all the louder. “Mommy, we saw you picking your nose!” Ha ha ha.

BUSTED!! I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it. Ugh! “I was not!” I lie right to their faces.

“Yes you were. We watched you!” More laughing.

I feel my face burning. I’m mortified. “Why aren’t you in bed? You’re supposed to be sleeping. Get back in bed!” Anything to stop the embarrassement. Giggling, they stampede back into bed.

A little background info might be needed here. Growing up, of course, there was laughter and joking around in my family. But, being a girl, I guess it seemed natural to notice the females in my family more. My mother, her mother, and even her mother tended to be on the more stern, serious side. They were very by the book. Rules were rules, and you followed them. If you didn’t, well, you found out why that was a bad idea. If they said, “Jump!” you jumped. And you didn’t ask why or how high. So, call it inevitable that I would pick some of this up and use it.

This night, however, my instructions for the kids to stay in bed, their decision to do otherwise and the silliness that followed, would change how I saw my place as a mother. Always trying to impress those women in my family with my parenting skills, trying to be as “businesslike” as they, made me not me. For the first time, I realized, I’m an adult now. These are my kids. This is my family. This is my home. I can do things the way I want to do them. I appreciated their raising, their everlasting advice, but they had their turns. Now it was mine.

The weight that was lifted off of my shoulders at that moment was unspeakable. There was a whole new sense of freedom – in all aspects of my life. No more ritualistic household cleaning (now only frantically done when guests are coming), no more five course meals that are mostly wasted (unless it’s a special occassion, or I just flat out feel like it), no more unbending rules for the kids (except keeping your fingers out of light sockets, and such), no more worrying so much about what others think about you (still working on that one), but, instead, I’ve learned to relax and laugh (almost always).

Getting caught picking my nose, though gross – and I know who to blame for this atrocity (Dad!), started a new enjoyment of my kids. Now, I seek to entertain my kids at MY expense. Sometimes it’s not always intentional, but those make even better moments. I’m not afraid to laugh at myself, or have them laugh at me. I’ve stopped worrying about parenting structure, and instead concentrate on just being a parent.

My kids are in their twenties now and they still bring up that nose-picking night. It was a great memory to them to see their mom behaving so “human.” Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ve been strict with them at times. They do need boundaries. But, being a mom seems to have been a lot calmer experience for me than that of the previous moms in my life.

Getting into bed that nose-picking night I, too, was giggling. And we’ve been giggling ever since.


Does Your Teen Have A Seasonal (Fashion) Disorder?

Whether you’re exclaiming, “Whew, it’s hot out!” or, “Brrr, it’s freezing!”, there’s always going to be that someone that’s feeling the opposite. But come on, isn’t 110¬įF hot to everyone? Or 10¬įF below cold to everyone? Okay, so maybe you’re ill. You have my sincere sympathy, then. Truly! But what I’m talking about are regular ol’ healthy folks. Teenagers (in my experience).

Every year, every season, I see those teenagers who dress for the opposite season. You may have seen them too. They wear knit caps, winter boots, those fluffy ski jackets on the hottest days. In the winter they bare half their body while wearing skimpy little outfits: shorts, tanks, flimsy dresses (made for summer), etc., all while standing at a bus stop, with 5 inches of snow next to them, for half an hour. I personally know some of these kids – and they do own hats, gloves and coats!

Just recently, you may have seen my earlier post about the air conditioning not working at work, we were all just baking.  It was as stiflingly hot inside as it was outside…96¬į, and in walked a teenage girl. She was very pretty and had on an awesome outfit, but my eyes bugged out. She was wearing long sleeves under a thick, quilted, vest/hoody. We all looked at her like she’d just lost her mind! That poor girl was going to fall over from heat exhaustion! The day before that, a coworker saw another girl wearing a thick hoody with the hood on. Why?

When you first see these kids, your initial reaction might be to chuckle and shake your head, “Teenagers!” You may think them stupid or ignorant, or blame it on peer pressure and trying to look cool. But then, if you’re like me (parent or not), you become very concerned for them knowing they are minutes away from ending up in the hospital. How cool is that going to look when they’ve got heat stroke or hypothermia and are sick as a dog. Whose going to see them looking “cool” then?

Even my own kids, I’m almost positive, have done this. Not in the summer, but winter. You know, you send your kids out the door admonishing them to put on their coat, gloves and hat only to find out they’re stuffing them in their bags at the bus stop. I probably did it too. Though having grown up in Wisconsin, I would have only dared take off my gloves and hat. lol

Again, I ask, “Why?” Okay, so this isn’t an actual disorder, but it’s certainly a curiosity to me that teenagers think making a radical move will be cool, that they won’t suffer health related consequences, and that they’re impressing peers who probably couldn’t care less. It’s even sad to think they’re willing to suffer extreme discomfort for these reasons. If only they could look ahead and realize that loving themselves has nothing to do with fashion, and that real friends will take you for who you are, not how you look. If you really want to impress others, be your best self – and do it for you, no one else.

Well, this wasn’t a very jesty post, but it was on my mind. Let me know what you think.

Love to all the teenagers out there. Be yourself, and stay cool! ūüėČ



Are You A Mover Or A Mower? (Take the poll)

Pardon me! Excuse me! Sorry! Processed with VSCOcam with f2 preset

Sorry? Pardon Me? Excuse Me?

Why? Why am I the one saying it?

Okay, so I know why. For me, it’s just instinctive to respond this way when I bump into someone. Others do too, of course. But not all. Just as it’s instinctive for me to move out of the way for oncoming pedestrians. But not for some.

One day, not long ago, my husband and I went to a beautiful, popular touristy place. A shopping center of sorts. No vehicles allowed. Just hundreds of people milling about. Much like this photo you see. We walked to one end and back, just enjoying the day and each other.

It was on our way back that it occurred to me that, every time someone came toward us, we were the ones to move out of the way. In fact, it seemed like we spent more time apart than together. It finally became so noticeable as to be comical. Whether one person or a group, we gave them the right of way. Why? Is it instinct, learned behavior, politeness, or fear of being mowed over? Interesting food for thought if someone cares to delve into this on a deeper level. (Hey, people have studied less impressive things!)

Mentioning this to my hubby, I suggested we play a game of chicken (unbeknownst to the crowd). Our silly sides took over, and with childish glee we linked arms. “Whatever you do, don’t veer off the path. Just keep walking straight,” I say. Now, let’s see who moves.

So we start walking. I try not to giggle too much as, much to my surprise, people move out of OUR way. Ha! One after another. Is it our confidence, our steady pace, our united front that has others moving for us? Hmm, whatever it was, it was fun to be the recipients for a change. Finally, WE rule the walkway!! teeheehee

At the end we drop our arms and laugh as we head to our parked car. (And don’t you know, it happened again! lol)

So, here’s my question to you…

Why I prefer fast food over fancy restaurants – I know how to pay!

pexels-photo-502633My husband and I aren’t rich. We aren’t poor.¬†We have stuff. Basically, we live paycheck to paycheck. But we do get by, and we do get out.

Fast food, like McD’s or Hardees (his favorite) or some other such place is where we usually head. But on occasion, very special occasions, very rare occasions, we drive out-of-town to a nice restaurant (there aren’t any where we live, okay?) So, consciously ignoring the gas we’re spending and feeling like a lottery winner with¬†space on our credit card, we salivate our way to the city.

Never¬†known for planning ahead, we scour the streets for what looks like a yummy place – one that even Chef Gordon Ramsay would be proud of. Bingo! Now the butterflies in my stomach start fluttering. Excitement, starvation, worrying that we may have spent something on that credit card and forgot and don’t really have enough available, ooh – fancy!

“Table for two?”

We look at each other and smile gleefully before absently following (we’re looking at everyone’s plates) the hostess to our table. My husband remembers his manners last second to let me sit first – it’s all an act as he usually scoots into the booths first. Cue the perfectly sized menu thingy (I can see my husband over it! Yay) Gulp. Look at these prices! No, don’t look!

So full we can barely breathe, and hating to leave what might be the nicest place we see in another year (or until we get our tax refund), we ask for the bill. It’s placed on the table linen in that plastic/leather pouch thingy and we stare at it. My husband slowly reaches for it and slides it over to open it. No biggie.

Now we’ve come to that awful, dreaded moment. With credit card neatly placed inside, we look around… is there a cash register we’re supposed to take this thing to on our way out, or do we wait for someone to come back? What the heck are we supposed to do? Every place seems to be different. Why can’t they just all get it together¬†and¬†stop torturing us?

Finally, my¬†husband flags someone down.¬†I stiffen. My face starts burning with the impending doom that’s about to assault my senses. Why does he have to do this every time? I put on my best smile like it doesn’t matter as the waitress reaches us. Then, with husbandly innocence, he announces to the whole restaurant,¬†(I’m not just imagining it. He, admittedly,¬†has two volumes: mumble and megaphone) that we’re¬†social virgins. We’re not from around here.¬†We don’t get out much. Where do we pay this? Is the tip included in the amount? Where’s your restroom?

O M G! Whyyyyyy? I know my smile has turned into a grimace by now as I see other patrons glance our way.¬†Now, I can’t wait to get out of there. I eagerly grab my purse (mmm, nice and heavy) and we leave.

Soon, my pain becomes his.


What I shouldn’t have done when I lost my cool at work…

heat-834468_1920Opened my mouth!

I’ve always thought¬†that I was born in the wrong century –¬†that I should be living in the 1800’s. You know,¬†horse-drawn carriages, moving west, and so on. I loved the thought of¬†everything that it entailed. Well, all but the practice of medicine, of course. Shiver I thought I could handle it all.

Then one day, one horrible day, the air conditioner went out at work. No big deal, right? I mean, it was still relatively cool inside (considering it didn’t work all¬†that well to begin with). But then it started warming up. Really warming up!

A few weeks pass and¬†HVAC guys tinker with it here and there, but¬†nothing works. Now, this building I work in is pretty large. The sun’s been beaming on us like a laser , the temperature and heat index are around 96¬įF and there’s no air circulation inside. (Well, they are blowing warm air around¬†with floor fans, but you can’t stand in front of them if you want to get your job done.) So, basically, you work and sweat for hours on end without relief in sight.

Eventually, you start to dislike the idea of going to work. You dread it with all your being. You know as you’re getting ready for your shift that it’s all a waste since, five minutes after you enter, you won’t resemble anything but a wilted rag doll. But what’s worse than¬†hours¬†spent in¬†hot, stifling air and uncomfortably¬†wet clothes is the claustrophobia you begin to feel. It’s terrible. I’ve never felt anything like that before. Customers are pitying us, we’re pitying us, and everyone is in gripe mode. And who could blame us? We’re hot and exhausted, and we just want to get out!

So, it shouldn’t come as a big surprise when, after about a month of this,¬†I get into it with the boss about the air conditioner. Oh, it wasn’t a full on tantrum or anything, but I did vehemently stress, “There’re human beings in here!” and, “I won’t be coming in if it gets in the triple digits!” It’s not that anyone else wasn’t thinking along those lines, it’s just that I was dumb enough to say it to the boss. Needless to say, it wasn’t one of my finer moments.

Thankfully, the boss let it go and we’ve moved on. I will be trying to do less griping, though, because it’s pretty pointless. And it just makes¬†me hotter.

As for the 1800’s and no air conditioning? I might have to rethink that.