I Don't Kiss Feet

Once upon a time, I had this glorious dream of being a blogger mom. I could sit at home all day with my coffee and my Pinterest.  I could take pictures of my creations and read my books. Then reality smacked me in the face. In the real world, I'm not creative. I'm not artsy. Most importantly, while I think the projects I pin on Pinterest are cute, I have no idea what I would do with most of them once I completed them. None of those things stopped me from attempting to live my dream. I started a blog any way. Occasionally I posted pictures of food. Mainly I made snarky comments. I have no idea if anyone read what I was writing. Did I feel better when I was done? Maybe. Sort of. No. I did feel pressure. "Well, you've started this blog thing. Now you should probably come up with something to post every day. It better be something good because nobody wants to read the sarcastic conversations you have with the other adult in your house." So I stopped writing. In addi

It’s been a rough few weeks if you live in Minnesota. First, Mother Nature decides to forget it is spring and drops her mid-60s to high-40s. I had to turn my damn heat back on after having the air conditioner on last week. I shouldn’t complain too much since according to my Facebook, On This Day, it was snowing around this time two and three years ago. However, I have two four year-olds who have become accustomed to spending hours at a time digging in the garden and playing at the park. I don’t know who is going stir crazy faster, me or them? Secondly, and significantly more tragic than Mother Nature’s inability to understand the seasons, Prince died. It doesn’t matter if you like his music. His impact on the industry is undeniable. I will even be as bold as to state, Prince was greater than Michael Jackson. I know. I know. My Minnesota bias is showing. Don’t get me wrong, as a child of the 80s, I love me some Michael Jackson. As a child of the 80s, who grew up in Minnesota, Prince

I promised pictures of a Batman cake. I have pictures of a Batman cake. I would have had pictures sooner but I’m easily distracted. First, there was the day off I needed to recover my house after the birthday party. I sort of had a day off but my house is not really recovered. Spotless houses are so overrated any way. Secondly, I had to take some time to do this to my keyboard: This was easily the best thing I have ever done to my computer. The other adult in my house (who works with computers for a living) won't go any where near my desk now because he can't stand my keyboard. Third, there was a new Suicide Squad trailer. I had to watch it a few times. Can we just take a moment to appreciate Clint Eastwood’s gene pool? Scott Eastwood is a fine genetic specimen. Fourth, there was Monday. That’s all I’m saying about that. Fifth, Mother Nature happened on Tuesday. I had every intention of creating a new post on Tuesday while the Twinkers were napping. Mother Nature decide

That's probably as dirty as it sounds but not the kind of dirty you're thinking.  The upcoming anniversary of the day the twins made their appearance in this world is coming. We have sent out the princess/superhero invitations. The Barbie dolls and new Star Wars light up shoes have been wrapped. In case you missed it, the Twinkers are identical girls. The other adult in my house isn’t getting any boys. My uterus is closed for business. If he wants someone to share his love of all things nerd with, he has to work with what he’s got. Queen Bee isn’t as receptive to all things nerd as the Twinkers. She would much prefer to be left alone in her room with a book. A child after my own heart. The last thing on my list was cake. On the way home from the Twinkers’ preschool screening the other day I tried to find out what kind of cake the Twinkers wanted. Here’s how that conversation went: Me: “Little girls, what kind of cake do you want for your birthday party?” Both Twinkers

How is it possible that something as innocent and simple as preschool can drive a grown woman to full on, ugly cry face?  Today I had full on, ugly-cry face. My little Twinkers started preschool. Ok, so, it’s hardly even preschool. They are out of the house for three hours every Friday. It’s not like they are going to college in Prague. That might actually not be a bad thing as long as mom can visit. The Twinkers know full well what today is. They went into major meltdown mode this morning when they weren’t allowed to leave for school with their big sister. Trying to explain the concept of time to a three-year old is like trying to explain racism to a Trump supporter (I promise that’s the only political remark I will make. This week.). They have been running around all morning wearing their backpacks and yelling “Go to school! Go to school!”. It’s actually an improvement over their usually morning yells of “That’s the wrong color spoon! She’s pulling my hair! You poured my milk wron

“Did you have an appointment today?” “No.” “It took you an hour to call me back.” “Sorry I was in the shower. I will try harder to keep my phone at arm’s length at all times.” “You were in the shower for an hour? What were you doing? Shaving your legs?” “Yes. You need a new razor. And I was dying my hair.” “I don’t know why you even bother with that. The white hairs are all in your head.” “I know they are in my head. That’s why I need to cover them.” “You have like two white hairs. Nobody can see them unless they comb through your hair with a tweezers.” “Would you cover your bald spot with more than a hat if given a chance?” “My bald spot isn’t that bad next to your white hairs.” “I’m making something with copious amounts of mushrooms for supper tonight.” I have no idea why the other adult in my house even called me. I am sure he had a reason other than wanting to know about my hair care habits. After discussing white hairs and bald spots, he then wanted to kn

I’m blankly staring at the words “vacation days”. What do these words mean? I have heard rumors of places you can go where there are clear skies, shimmering waters, and adult beverages with fancy umbrellas. Apparently these are the kinds of places one can go when they are using these “vacation days”. Vacation days mean nothing of the sort around here. For starters, I am a redhead. Places with clear skies and shimmering waters are my kryptonite. There is not amount of clothing or sunscreen that can save me from the wrath of the sun.  And while sunburn isn’t really that terrible once you get use to it, I hear skin cancer is a bitch. So exactly what is a vacation day around here? It involves all three of the little blonde people being under the same roof for more than two awake hours at a time and me running around in stripes, carrying a whistle. At this point a vacation would involve me being able to finish an entire cup of coffee while it is still hot. Today is a vacation day. My c

Just a boring, babbling introduction to me. I have spent a lot of time as a student. It’s possible I have very little to show for all the time spent in the classroom but that’s an entirely different matter. By far my least favorite day of the new semester/quarter/whatever was the very first day. All the instructor ever does on that first day is hand out his/her syllabus and then proceeds to read it to you word for word. This was not as annoying for me in high school (because who doesn’t love a free day) as it was in college. Just give me the syllabus and let’s move on. I have made it this far in life. I’m pretty sure my ability to read and comprehend helped along the way. The only thing worse than an instructor who took all of the first class period to explain the syllabus was the instructor who took a whole week to explain the syllabus. Anyway. The point of all that babbling was to introduce you to the next part of today’s story. As much as I hate the syllabus, I feel it is i