Mini-Golfing with the Butters is NOT Fun

In another glaring example of “I saw this going differently in my head”…I give you mini-golf.

In a nutshell: I envisioned a glorious day (it was! 74 breezy degrees), 5 cooperative children (they weren’t), my awesome nephew (he was), following all the rules (they didn’t), smiles (there were…but sort of evil smiles that scared me), good attitudes (there weren’t), no complaining that they hate mini-golf (there was), keeping the golf-ball on the “green” (they didn’t), no demands for food and drink (there was), basically a nice, relaxed, leisurely game of mini-golf with the family (it so was not), with no crying (of course there was).

I would now like to present you with photographic evidence of the shit show…

at the beginning_Fotor  In the beginning it all seemed so promising..although if you look closely you’ll see that Joey remained stone-faced while I tried to get a good shot of everyone. And Cooper tried to keep his eyes closed the whole time. Just to annoy me. It is important to note that the tall handsome fella in the picture is my nephew. The five vertically challenged children are mine.

ball in the water_Fotor  Right off the bat someone “accidentally” hit their ball into the water.

touching ceiling_Fotor  I’m pretty sure there was probably a sign somewhere on the property that said not to stand on the fake rocks and touch the ceiling.

jessie falling_Fotor  Pretending to fall through the fence into the water below. Wicked funny stuff.

harry laying down_Fotor  By hole 6 one of them was laying down from pure exhaustion.

cooper crawling under_Fotor_Fotor  This is most likely frowned upon by the management. And everyone waiting in line behind us.

cassie thigh high_Fotor  Thigh-highs to play mini-golf? You bet your ass.

jess pouting_Fotor  Then there was pouting…

jess yelling_Fotor  …and screaming…

jess crying_Fotor  …and, eventually, crying.

humpty dumpty_Fotor  Humpty-dumpty?

shooting pool joey_Fotor  As if the people in line behind us didn’t already hate us… we decided to dazzle them with our ability to use the golf club as a pool stick and shoot the ball in the hole that way.

Unfortunately I wasn’t able to take pictures of me yelling at them the whole time. Super fun times on our week-long vacation down the Cape. Super fun.


Why I Think We Should All Wear the Trophy T-Shirt


Target (my all time fave store) is taking some heat over a t-shirt they are selling for women with the word “Trophy” emblazoned across the front of it. Some people are up in arms about it. They think that it is demeaning to women. They think it’s sexist. They think Target should stop selling it.

I think they should lighten the hell up.


Yes, I get it…we don’t want to objectify women. Women are people, not things. Women are not something you own, not something you have. Okay. Okay. OKAY!

But you should know that I’m buying that t-shirt and I’m wearing it with pride. And here’s why:

I’ve had 5 kids, and a body that proves it. My kids swear, my house is a mess, and I hate to cook. If it weren’t for the wonder of electrolysis I’d be sporting a full mustache, and if it weren’t for the wonder of wax I’d have a unibrow that even Bert would be envious of. I can’t keep my checkbook straight, haven’t made the kids start their summer reading yet, and wouldn’t know a designer bag from a knock-off if my life depended on it. Oh, and I’m late for everything.

And, yet, somehow, I still think I am the bee’s knees. If you tried to convince me that I wasn’t completely awesome you would be wasting your time.

In my own mind (which is the only place that really matters anyways) I am the pick of the litter.

So let’s just change our paradigm on this whole “Trophy” t-shirt a little bit.

Let’s look at it this way: Yes, trophies are prizes…but just because you’re a prize doesn’t mean you are someone ELSE’S prize. You can be your own prize. You should be your own prize.

You should wake up grateful every day and think, “I’m pretty damn amazing.” And not just in a comparison of what someone else thinks is amazing. But amazing, just because you are. You should be able to grab your muffin top and give it a little jiggle, check out the dimples on your rear-end, frown at your gray roots, wonder at the cruelty of adult on-set acne, and STILL know in your heart that you are amazing.

Like you are a damn trophy.

Because let’s not forget: trophies are awesome. You know they are.

Trophies are the best of the best. Just like us women.

Women are incredible, and fun, and smart. We are beautiful, and hard-working, and strong. Women are moms, aunts, sisters, cousins, friends, and daughters. We are teachers, lawyers, doctors, nurses, police officers, truck drivers, stay-at-home-moms, business owners, and more. Women are in the armed forces and fight for our freedom. That’s right. We’re so bad ass that some of us deploy over seas to places that I’m afraid to even Google, and then fight the bad guys so that the rest of us can be free and safe. THAT is amazing. Women are extraordinary.

So should a woman feel like she is SOMEONE’S trophy? Of course not. But should she feel like she is a prize? Hell yea!

And, c’mon, what’s really wrong with feeling like you are “all that and a bag of chips.”

From one cat’s ass to another: I say wear that “Trophy” t-shirt with pride.



7 Butters Prepare For Vacation

image I couldn’t decide whether to title this “7 Butters Prepare For Vacation” or “One Butters Does it All”… Because you know and I know that even though 7 Butters are heading to the Cape for vacation, only one Butters is saddled with the job of getting every single thing and every single person READY for said vacation.

And do you know who that one poor sap is?

I’ll give you a hint: she’s short and she’s disgruntled. That’s right…Me. I’M the one in charge of doing the crappy prep work necessary for a week down the Cape. I know, right!? Ew. But if I don’t do what needs to be done then I run the risk of 5 kids bringing 5 suitcases stuffed with random crap like wii controllers that are broken and have no batteries anyways, three or four mismatched socks, an arbitrary shoe, and a handful of crayons. It would be way more annoying to be stuck down the Cape with those ridiculously packed suitcases and having to hand wash and air dry everyone’s underwear each night because no one had the good sense to pack even one pair of skivvies. It’s easier to just do the grunt work myself…and then complain about it.

But, blech, that means that I first have to figure out what everyone needs to pack. Which means I need to make sure everyone has enough clean clothes to actually pack what I TELL them to pack. Which means I have to do a ton of laundry.  Which means I have to go rooting thru all the dirty laundry to pluck out specific clothes to be washed. Which is gross. Trust me.

It also means that once I finally have everyone’s clothes washed, dried, folded, and sorted into individual piles, I’m free to move onto the more annoying nitty gritty part of packing: the toiletries. Which means I need to pack what I KNOW we need (toothpaste), and also what we COULD need (band-aids), and also what we probably won’t need (Benadryl).

A week down the Cape means I’m also in charge of packing food. Which means I need to go shopping. Which means I need to make a plan of what food we need so that I’m not just buying a bunch of random crap. Which means I need to plan certain meals. Which totally sucks.

The “get ready to go on vacation” experience of every single other member of the household is absolutely NOTHING like my wretched experience. At. All. Their experience is quite lovely, and goes a little something like this: “Oooh, look! Our vital Cape-Cod-for-a-week clothes have miraculously washed, dried, and folded themselves! How perfectly splendid. And as if that isn’t delightful enough, our suitcases are all down here in the hall…why, they must have just walked down from the attic all by themselves. There simply is no other explanation.”

Then they pack their crap and drag their suitcases out to the car and then, well….then that’s it. Then they just get in the car. Which means I’m running all through the house like a mad-woman because I’m left with less than 5 minutes to pack all MY stuff. Which means I end up just whipping stuff into a bag and hoping I don’t forget anything intregel to my happiness like my bathing suit bottom or my phone charger.

Which means I’m the last one in the car.

Which means everyone is like, “What took you so long?

Which means that part of my preparation for vacation always seems to include me having to try really really REALLY hard not to tell everyone to just fuck the fuck off.

Which means that my secret hatred of vacations continues thrive. And shows no sign of letting up any time soon.


Oh, No He Did NOT Just Say That…


Forget about recording your children’s first words in their baby book, there should be a whole entire section dedicated to recording all the hair-raising things that come out of their mouths once they are old enough to form full sentences.

Below are 16 hair-raising, gross, & horrifying examples.

“Mom, is this a tick crawling on me? Never mind, I flicked it off.”
Said while sitting in the backseat of the car

“Mom! Joey made me spill my slush EVERYWHERE!!”
Also said while sitting in the backseat of the car

“Is Sharpie marker permanent?”
Said while sporting a drawn on uni-brow and goatee

“Don’t tell Mom, she’ll kill us!”
Murmured secretively behind a closed door

“Ooops, I thought that was a fart.”
Said while trying to prove to his brother that he can fart on command

“I have to poop.”
Said anytime that there is only a port-a-potty available

“I have a project due tomorrow.”
Said at 8:00 at night

“I don’t feel good.”
Said 10 minutes after you secured a babysitter for that evening and made plans for a date night with the hubster

Said in front of the grandparents

“You promised we could get a dog when Cassidy turned 2!!!”
Said on Cassidy’s 4th birthday

“My dad spends a long time in the bathroom.”
Said in front of the entire Kindergarten class

“Mom! Mom! Mooooommmmmmm!!!”
Said late in the afternoon when I am hanging on by a thread

“I don’t have any clean underwear”
Said 10 minutes before you have to walk out the door for school

“So-and-so has strep throat.”
Said 24 hours after “so-and-so” has spent the night at your house

“ummm… so my dream was so weird last night…ummm…it was like, umm… we were at this place…ummm…wait, I’m trying to remember…ummmm…”
Said anytime you are in a huge rush

And last, but not least:
“What are we doing today?”
Said the first thing, on the first day of summer vacation…and every single morning of the summer thereafter.


Chocolate Chips Don’t Belong in Your Nose…and other truths we hold to be self-evident, but aren’t

girls with choc chips and minions

We hold these seven truths to be self-evident…unfortunately the kids need a little reminder.

Chocolate chips don’t belong in your nose~ First of all, you shouldn’t be shoving anything up your nose. With that being said, if I had to put in order a list of things that you really really shouldn’t shove up your nose, chocolate chips would be at the top of that list. Chocolate chips are food. They are a delicacy. They are little droplets of pure perfection. But the minute they get shoved up your nose they lose all their hard-earned glory and become nothing more than just your average, no-good booger. And you shouldn’t eat your boogers. Even if they are chocolate flavored.

You need to use soap in the shower~ If you are in the shower for 20 minutes using up all the hot water, and then you come out and your hair is basically still dry and you still have dirt on your face…well…I’m sorry, but you have completely missed the point of taking a shower. A shower is meant to clean your body, with soap, from tip to tail. And it’s meant to clean it in such a way that you aren’t soaking in a tub full of your own filth. The shower is a rite of passage. When you’re old enough to take a shower, you are too old for me to come in and help you clean all your nooks and crannies. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Turn around, get back into the shower, and wash yourself properly. For real.

It’s not a good idea to draw penises on every minion in your sister’s Despicable Me coloring book~ Even if one sister IS standing next to you chanting “Penis! Penis!” and the other sister has collapsed to the floor because she is laughing so hard. I get it, you got caught up in the moment. But EVERY page? Every single page in the coloring book is now x-rated. Throwing the book away doesn’t seem to be enough so I’m just going to burn it.

You can get your own glass of milk~ Oh no you did NOT just walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, see what we have to drink, and then go and sit down and ask me to get you a glass of milk. Uh Uh. I refuse to believe that just happened. This isn’t a restaurant. I’m not here to wait on you. I’m not working for tips. I’m not your slave. You are perfectly capable of getting your own drink. This is lunacy. Do you think I want to spend my days just fetching drinks and snacks at your command? I don’t care that you are so nice and comfy on the couch and that you said “please”…well, now that I look at you, you DO look awfully cozy. I would hate for you to have to get up. Okay, just this one time I will get you a glass of milk. Just this ONE time. Would you like a snack with that?

Cap the marker~ The cover is supposed to back on the marker when you are done with it. That’s how it works. You uncap the marker, use the marker, and recap the marker. Otherwise the marker dries out and it is rendered useless. It’s like the basic laws of physics. If you leave the cap off, you can kiss that marker good-bye. Adios. Sayonara. Ciao. Plus, dried out markers are a waste of money. Moolah. Dinero. Cha-ching. The markers aren’t supposed to be disposable. We live in a civilized society where people recap their markers when they are done with them. Get with the program.  I’m so passionately sick and tired of having to throw away dried out markers. I’m ready to pull the plug on the whole thing and just become a crayons-only household.

When you are at the pool, you’re going to get wet~ Why is it so shocking to everyone when they get splashed at the pool? Stop complaining about getting wet. The outrage coming from you is at such a fevered pitch that one would think you had just been splashed with someone’s vomit. It’s water. You’re at a pool. Why are you so bewildered?  Let’s just look at the facts. You’re in your bathing suit. You’re wearing goggles. You brought a towel to dry yourself off. You even brought a change of clothes for afterwards. It would appear to all involved that you are well aware that getting wet is a possible (and not necessarily shocking) consequence of going into a big giant man-made hole in the ground filled with water.

You need to wear shoes~ If we are going somewhere and I’m trying to get everyone out the door and into the car, I REALLY do think it is super awesome that you hustled and were the first one in the car. Hooray! What I DON’T think is super awesome, though, is when we arrive at our destination and I discover that you don’t have any shoes on. That is the opposite of hooray. How about you just tuck this little piece of advice into your back pocket: If you are leaving the house to go somewhere, put on shoes. You don’t even need to ask me if you need to wear shoes because the answer will always be yes. Even one shoe and one sock is better than nothing because you can just limp and I’ll tell everyone that you hurt your toe in a sky-diving accident and so you can’t wear shoes for a week. THAT I can groove to. Having to put my 9-year-old in the front seat thingy of the supermarket carriage because he is barefoot…not so much.

C’mon, man! Just, C’MON! I thought you knew all this already. Sure, I know I didn’t sit you down and actually tell you all of this stuff, but did I really have to? Isn’t it like how Windows 8 is already preloaded onto a computer…isn’t some of this vital info already preloaded into your brain? I take it, by the the chocolate snot running down your lip, that the answer is no.