I'm so funny? · Snark

Five Sound Parenting Practices that are Completely Lost on My Boys

pin it.
pin it.

1. Not allowing pretend weapons.

We would like to think we are a peace-loving family.  When we started out, we piously said that we would never allow for violence or weapons in our house. Then we had three boys in less than three years. We quickly learned that foam swords hurt less to be hit with than sticks. Because here’s the secret, folks: boys seem to have weaponry in their genes. If you don’t give them a pretend armory, they’ll fashion their own. And while I like to encourage my boys’ creativity, I’m not sure that I want to purposefully prepare them for a future of crafting shivs in prison.


2. Vegetables

We have recently converted our boys’ diet from processed-only to one that is colorful and daytime-television-doctor approved.  My husband and I have high-fived each other while simultaneously patting our own backs for being such responsible parents. What came after was something we could not prepare ourselves for: the gas. Not only is it epic in proportion, but they AIM IT AT US. Yes, because not only are boys super stinky, but they are also foul, foul creatures.


3. Limiting Screen Time.

The TV. This is one I never even tried to be a good parent about.  I swear from the time my boys were able to roam freely, I’ve done all that I could to encourage them to just sit for a minute. Watch something. Because no matter how messy that crazy Goofy can get on TV, it’s not a dumped-out 10-pound bag of flour in my living room.

The same goes for video games. I have never ONCE had to clean up the unused pieces of a Minecraft game. But the Legos? They’re everywhere.  Just when you think that you’ve picked up every last piece and hidden them safely in the crawlspace, you find one the only way a mom knows how: by stepping on it in the middle of the night. Swearing so loudly that your children wake up isn’t great parenting, either.


4. Buying them good, sturdy shoes

Winter is a splendor of lovely smells. A log, crackling in the fireplace, hot chocolate on the stove, and feet. Winter always smells like feet in my house. Because I buy my boys good, sturdy shoes that eventually get wet, get dry, get sweat in, get dry and REEK. This process happens in a matter of days and should be studied and harnessed for biological warfare.


5. Appropriate Safety Measures

We bought a trampoline. Being good parents, we bought the one with the big bulky padding that is enclosed in netting. Our boys took one look at it and thought, “Cage Match.”  They learned that they could bounce off the sides of the netting in an effort to body-slam their opponents. You know what happened the first time they went on a trampoline that didn’t have the same safety measures? Jumped right off the thing.

Proper safety in sports is crucial, but it also makes for some poor choices. Like buying your son a cup for peewee football, only to find them “testing it out” in the backyard.  Or bundling your child up in knee, elbow, and wrist pads to learn how to skateboard. It restricts mobility while at the same time making them feel invincible. A deadly combination in boys.

Helmets are good. Children should always wear helmets. Okay, not always. One time my four-year-old decided to wear a motorcycle helmet when we went downtown.  Choosing to encourage his originality, (*read: too tired to fight him) I let him wear it as he played around the fountains. The problem is, the helmet made him top heavy, so as he went to jump off the wall by the fountain, he nosedived.  I guess I should be grateful he had it on, because it prevented a serious head injury…

helmet boy
the before picture…


I'm so funny? · You're Welcome

The Best Of Pinterest: Funny

I love Pinterest more than something loves something they should love a lot. I’m REALLY GOOD AT IT, too, if I don’t say so myself. In fact, my “funny” and “musings” boards are quite possibly the best things I’ve ever created, children included (not included, put away your angry hate mail letter head, I was joking).  Here are a few of the stand out winners:

  Found this little guy on there with this caption: “He does this every time I leave for work, and it breaks my heart. Every. Time.”  Perfection.   So I jumped over to where the picture came from (http://imgur.com/gallery/9enLu) and the freaking comments are as funny as the picture.  If you’re a Star Wars Fan. Which I have to be, given the amount of boys I live with.

This one was uploaded “by user” and I can’t find the user. I suck. I want to find them and force them to be my best friend just like I did that chick of off Pinterest who makes the cards about genitals.  But fantastic, yes?

Again, another uploaded by user. HOW DO I FIND THESE GENIUSES?

Newt’s such a jerk.

This one is titled “My Precious”. I could only link it as far back as this article from the Huffington Post: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/06/gollum-precious-image-los_n_998837.html

Want to see more? Follow me on Pinterest. I’m not sure why you wouldn’t, really.

Follow Me on Pinterest

I’m on freaking Twitter now, too. Though I’m not sure why. But because I’m practicing to become an egomaniac, follow me there, too.

By: TwitterButtons.com

confessions · I'm so funny? · pinterest

You googled it, nerds.

It’s fun to see where the traffic is coming from on my blog. The best is the google search terms that are used to bring people here. A couple KEEP COMING UP. So I figured I’d just address them all in one place.

1. I am not the Mormon Kelle Hampton. I’m not.  Is that what you were referring to? Probably not. Kelle Hampton is NOT Mormon. Or LDS.  I do not know her or Mitt Romney (he’s dashing, don’t you think?). Also, though her blog is LOVELY (and she does MANY MANY great things with her notoriety) , we have NOTHING in common. Okay, 1 thing, and it’s not fantastic bangs. My bangs suck.  Her kids are super cute and if you love her, you should. If you don’t, email me and tell me why. I’m interested. Because I see nothing but perfection. She’s living the dream. And that sort of bothers me.

2. I didn’t get fat after we stopped dating. You know who you are. I got fat after something inside me died and I stopped caring so much.

3. This is a cute ninja kitten:

It’s not MY ninja kitten. I have one. Why don’t you ever see it? Because it’s a damn ninja!

I stole this picture from this site: http://www.catspictures.net/

Did you know there are many pictures of cats online? I’m pretty sure that sites devoted to cats come second in number on the internet to sites devoted to porn. So it makes them the 1%. Kittehs.

3. No joke, in my ALL TIME section of hits- this comes in tenth: Max and Ruby. Why? Because a LONG LONG time ago I hypothesized that their parents got ate. I had a picture. I haven’t heard the end of it since. Tell me then, where are their parents? They’re rabbits! If they were still alive Max and Ruby would have five thousand siblings. But it’s just the two of them. They’re dead. Get over it.

4. Fried Chicken. Again, not kidding. One time I posted a picture of fried chicken and the American Flag. Keeps ’em coming back. Fried chicken is AMERICAN. And delicious.

5. Fluffy Tutu Tutorial. Thanks for stopping by, crafters, because I have the only free tutorial on how to make a SEWN tutu for free on the internet. You’re jerks and are only here for one thing. Then you go on your way and forget all about me. I hate you so much right now.

6. Then there’s the rest of the hits that come from crap pinned to pinterest from this blog. That makes me supremely happy. I love pinterest. Have you seen this one on pinterest?

I fixed it:

Much better.

Aaaand you’re welcome.


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I'm so funny?

Post office? Right.

So I became an aunt again for the 452nd time a few weeks ago! He’s cute. He’s new. I bought him a pillow pet and made him a card. I did. But do I EVER send anything? Nope. I even told Melanie that I had bought it and the first thing she said was, “you’ll never send it” and then she told me I don’t read good. I’m not sure why she was so hateful.

And honest.

So I made him a card that looked something like this (I stole the idea from pinterest. I didn’t click on the link. If I had, I would have learned that I could have just bought it and saved myself this awesome story. You can buy it, too. You should.  If YOU ARE that chick, I’m sorry. But I’d like for you to be my best friend. See the repeated messages in your inbox and what I wrote on the bottom of your restraining order. Those aren’t hearts.)

Cute, eh? I thought so. But the first one didn’t print out so well. So I used the other side of that paper as a scratch piece of paper and made a new one. That scratch piece of paper became my angry doodlepad while I was on the phone with DHS trying to get my kids on the Medicaid Waiver so I can finally get some damn respite. It’s not working. So I wrote down everyone I spoke to and their numbers.

Last week Abby had her IFSP appointment (individualized something something something). I was explaining to them how I needed to get a screener out to see Abby but no one could tell me the right person. They asked who I had spoke to so I went and grabbed my scratch sheet of paper.

I didn’t understand why they were looking at me so funny until after I left and turned the paper over.

That’s right. My scratch paper said “genitals” in really big letters. Hugghga. It shows the level of humor they had, too. They did not laugh. I am not funny. Let this be a lesson to you, children, don’t ever plagiarize.

Sorry Katie, Travey and baby Gibson. I still have your card and your gift. I’m turning it into a shrine. Nothing but love.

confessions · drawings · I'm so funny?

Why I shouldn’t be left alone for too long.

I’ve been thinking a lot about things lately. Lots of thinking time. I’ve been painting baseboards. Good thinking time. I’ve also had a weird stomach bug (EEEEEcooolll IIIIIII. I swear. Want to hear about it? I kind of want to talk about it, but I’d have to use words like “diarrhea” and “stool” and “so much blood…or wait, was that fruit punch?” but then that would be so gross) which has also given me a lot of alone time. In my Mexican Bathroom Oasis.

The other day I painted my bathroom celiene. Remember how it came down a couple of months ago? Yeah. So I used the same paint I painted the boys’ bathroom celiieieine white. Two months later I paint this celieieing with the same paint and it turns out GREY (gray? what’s the American way to spell that?) At first I was a little mad. Not that I’d have to repaint that tiny area- but that I’d have to get a new brush. A new can of paint. Too many steps. But then I sat (ahahahahaaaa) and looked at it.  I decided I really liked it grey. The bathroom has white wanescoting on it, then a grey/blue paint, then (will have) white crown moulding (which is great to use if you don’t want to worry about cutting in paint or fixing your celieieiieieing right). The grey looks designerish.

Then I compared that to my life. White paint is good. White paint is right. White paint is normal. It makes things brighter, cleaner. I didn’t plan on having grey paint. At first I thought it was a mistake. But there’s something about the grey paint that is awesome, too. It’s different. It’s warm. Sure, there will be people who look at it and think that it’s not right, but I’m pretty sure they’ll be few and far between.

{I’m pretty sure I’m just using that analogy to feel okay about leaving my celieieieing grey.

Now if I could just come up with something to make having disgustingly dirty floors okay, I’ll be SET!}

Another cool thing that happened to me? My chiropractor made me a sandwich, delivered it to my house and then adjusted my shoulder (my computer shoulder, isn’t that sad?) at my house. (can we pretend that his wife wasn’t here and didn’t compel him to do this? It makes the story better. Even still…who’s HUSBAND makes sandwiches for her friend and her and drives them to their house?!) . It was awesome. He also babysits my kids. Whether he knows they’re there or not.  So, if you’re looking for a chiropractor who is not only AWESOME at what he does, but also gives you that personal touch (wow, that sounds so wrong…but I’m not going to fix it because I didn’t mean it to sound wrong. I’m pure in thought), visit ABC Chiropractic in Silverdale, WA or at his new place of business. It also has letters in the name. It’s in Port Orchard. Crap. Now I’ve got to call Heather. Again. Today.

(I tried putting a picture of a cat that needed an adjustment RIGHT HERE but it wouldn’t let me. Blogspot is in league with my husband.)

So Heather came over today because she was having a hard day and cleaned my house. See what a fantastic friend I am?

I watched some birds the other day helping their baby birds to fly. One flew too far away. The birds worked tirelessly to get that baby bird back to the nest. One stayed with the baby bird while the other got the other ones back. Then they both, little by little, got the baby bird on it’s way back to the nest.

Then it was hit by a car.

That last part didn’t happen. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.

I'm so funny? · nerds · pranks


looks like a normal sized table, yes?

So you’ve seen the table wars, yes? I’ve been left without a table. Which is fine, because I prefer to eat on the couch anyways. But it’s not totally conducive for family bonding (again, which is fine with me…but patriarch Lance…well, lame).  So I’ve been ALL OVER craigslist looking for a new table. I refuse to buy new. I learned that lesson when I bought the new van. I cried anytime anything touched it. Which happened a lot. My boys…have you met them? Not so much with the new stuff.  Also, new is expensive (which is relative to the amount of money you have in your pocket. So since the cost of Abby’s inhailed steroids went up a full 900% (!) this week, buying new was out of the question). I LOVE craigslist. I’m AWESOME at finding awesome deals. And I love doing it. It’s like garage saling without having to leave my house or interact with people. PERFECTION. But, like most craigslisters, I suck at following through. So I found this table. Loved it. But he wanted $100 more than was in my table budget. So I asked if he’d go less and he’d only knock off $50. So then Heather worked her magic and got him to knock of the full $100!  Then she went ahead and FOLLOWED THROUGH for me. I suck at the follow through! She called, arranged a time, put my pants on for me and went with me to get the table so I wouldn’t get murdered. The table is AWESOME! So much more awesome than the pricetag would infer. It’s a counter height table with SIX chairs that all still have their original plastic on them. It came from a couple that doesn’t have any kids and barely used it. He was from Fiji (he said,  though he looked like a very kind terrorist to me) and she was from India and, get this, they weren’t killers! Not even close! They were very nice. He helped us load it up and gave us this really fancy blanket with a tiger on it so that the table didn’t get scratched. He even had twin and little red flags to put on my car because I couldn’t shut the tailgate. Then they invited us to their house and we thought about how funny it would have been if meeting at the storage facility was just a screening process and that they were really going imprison us in their home…but it turns out they only wanted to give us an extra set of screws and some beverages. Good folk.

But because the table is HUGE there was no room in the car for Abbo. So I made Erin drop what she was doing in Silverdale and come over and get Abby and watch her for the entire day (I left her with my AWESOME babysitter Sarah in the meantime. Not alone. We’ll wait a good year before we do that…).

Realizing that we weren’t going to make it back in time to get Casey off the bus anyways, I arranged for Lance to pickup Abby at E’s house and then get Casey off the bus. All was well, so Heather and I headed off for the Auburn Supermall. It was merely coincidence that the perfect table was by the perfect place. We wandered the mall and then the ginormous Walmart. Have you seen that one? It’s insane. I could have spent a week there.

But I had this nagging feeling I had forgotten something. All day.

Then, on the way home, I realized that E had a free pass at my house. Again. The horror. And I come home to this:

She freaking gave me alone time- with nachos! She knew the only time I’m truly by myself is when I’m in the bathroom (well, most of the time…if we’re close, you’ve heard me in there when I’m on the phone with you…). So she gave me a party in the potty. Fantastically tasty and good looking prank, E. And yes, it’s where we’re going to live up Cinco De Mayo.

(on a side note, word has it that there’s a video of many people having a party in the bathroom before I got home…I’ll post it when I torture it out of them)

Still though. That nagging feeling like something wasn’t right…oh freaking hell! Peyton! I’d left him over at the Thorely’s ALL DAY. Now, I’ve been super forgetful lately anyways. Like how I drove all the freaking way to Janna’s OLD house…the one she hasn’t lived in for MONTHS. But to forget my son? Terrible. I freaking love Mary T., though. She didn’t call or anything. Just kept him. Indefinitely. Thanks, M. I will reward you.


The table is home. It’s set up. It’s huge. Comically freaking huge. Come over and have a good laugh. It’s a Magnusson sized table in a Janna B. sized (talking human size, not her home size- which is now in the Ridge-just so you know) house. It’s like if Jack climbed the beanstalk and instead of getting the golden goose he brought home the giant’s table. The only way it’s going to work is if we tear out two walls. Two walls that I want to tear out anyways. And so does Lance. (the walls behind the picture with the clock and the dumb wood thing on them)  But we can’t. Unless someone happens to run at the wall with a mallet making such damage that it would necessitate us fixing the problem. Kind of like I did with my old table…Yes?  No. No more tricking Lance into doing things. At least not right now.

Keep in mind the scale. Lance is a giant and the table looks small next to him. I’m SO sad about it. I love the table SO SO much. It’s so pretty and so perfect and so huge.

Like me.

So what did we learn today?

1. I’ve got GOOD friends. Friends who will risk their lives to get me a table. Who don’t complain when I almost kill us several times. (who also is co-hosting and co-freaking-paying for Abby’s birthday party- she handed me some cash today to go for it and I said “no” and threw it back at her and she got all sorts of ugly and screamed “STAY OUT OF MY BUSINESS!” I love her).  Also, friends who will go in my bathroom. That’s a big deal by itself. I have three boys with poor aim. Then decorate it. Then party in it. Then leave me a treat.

2. Sometimes measuring just isn’t enough.

3. It’s not better to love and lost than to never have loved at all. I LOVE that table. Love it. Now I have to sell it.

4. Measure twice, buy once. 

5.  Eating alone in a bathroom is quite soothing.

Abby · Carter · Casey · Down syndrome · Easter · holidays · I'm so funny? · Peyton

Easter in not about Zombies.

Aaaah, Holidays. A time to try to instill in my children that there is a true meaning to fat bearded centenarians and bunnies who somehow produce eggs. There’s a lot of explaining in my house.

This year we was no different. It started out with an Easter Egg Hunt at the Holly Ridge Center. The HRC is the Early Intervention program that Abby goes to (or will as she gets older, they mostly just come to our house now). Casey went through their program, so we know most of the people there. So we took all of the kids to this family day.
( Is that not the creepiest bunny you’ve ever seen in your life? They used it for a party for special needs kids! Someone should have thought that through. It looks like it’s going to take a chunk out of Abby’s head. )

We told them on the way there that there were going to be a lot of little kids with special needs and that the they needed to be big helpers. So while we were there Carter didn’t take a single egg for himself. He went around reaching eggs that were too high for little kids and just basically being the sweet kid that he is. Casey comes by and his easter basket is so freaking full that he can’t fit any more eggs in it. Tenatively, and scared of a meltdown, I asked Casey if he’d share his eggs with Carter, who didn’t have any. So Casey took his basket, lifted it up and happily gave Carter HALF of his eggs. My heart gushed happy faced pride. So then Carter took his basket and started laying out some of those eggs for the little kids to find again. Again, gushing. Without knowing what the other was doing, Casey came behind Carter and picked up all the eggs as he hid them.

Good times.

Easter breakfast, yes, on the floor.

So on Sunday morning we’re trying to explain to the kids about Jesus’ resurrection. We told them that after three days after he died, he came back to life. And yes, this turned into a conversation about how it really wasn’t the same thing as zombies, but the point was lost on them. They spent the next hour pretending Casey was a zombie and shooting him with their nerf guns that they got in their Easter baskets. Instead of baby pillow pets because they were sold out. So they got weapons. On Easter. Good mothering.

But backing up, if you look at the picture of the Easter bunny they had seen the day before, of COURSE they put together Easter and zombies.

I'm so funny? · nerds

Your Move, Hoskins.

 So after I used my hammer to get off the legs I was thinking about what to do with the table. I thought it would make a GREAT sign. For the Hoskins.

So Lance and I left it in front of E’s garage. Now they have it. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they used the wood to burn my house down at this point.

I'm so funny? · nerds


So last night was happy happy hockey night. Best night of the week, really. But before I left I heard Lance and stupidClint scheming on the phone. I knew they were up to no good. But I had so much rage to get out that I HAD to go to hockey.

I took Lance’s car and on the way home I hid it. Kind of like a pre-retaliation retaliation. So I walked home, went around the back of the house, sneaked up to the back door and banged on it as hard as I could. Lance jumped, but didn’t scream like a girl, like I had hoped. That’s when I noticed this:

They went out into the forest, got the damn table, crudely screwed back in the legs (one of them BACKWARDS), painted it, and put it back in my house. It’s back to being “functional” again.  So much rage. Then Clint made Lance take a bunch of pictures of him (I’m not sure if that’s exactly how it happened, but I have like fourteen pictures of Clint on my camera).

Then this morning, instead of hunting down his own car, Lance found my keys and stole mine.

I'm so funny?


I’m pretty sure my calling in this life is to get a rise out of my husband (uhg, that and the whole ‘wife and mother thing’). He’s pretty neutral. All of the time. Not that he’s not fun. Or cute. Or totally funny, he just doesn’t show a whole lot of emotion. So I mess with him. Like I did a couple of days ago. But today, well, I upped the antie a little bit.

Doesn’t do the grossness of this beast justice.

I should back up. I hate our kitchen table. Those of you who have sat at said table, please chime in on it’s complete horridness. We bought it at Ikea SEVEN years ago for $100 to “make due (do?)” until we could get a better set. Seven years ago. The thing trembles when I try to wipe it. If you wipe it too hard you think at any point it’s going to come crashing down on you. There’s screw ends sticking out one side that are sharp and catch your clothes if you get too close. And they’re covered in tetanus, I’m sure. The top has been chiseled out by my kids. The sides were starting to splinter, meaning my hands are, too. It was never “finished” so it absorbed food and all manner of disgustiness. I power washed it last year to get the crud off of it. But the wood was so soft and so old and rotten that the force of the power washer caused it to tear off a little. Hideous!

…but, since it was still “structurally sound” (barely) Lance said we had to keep it. So we spent a small fortune putting nice new hardwood floors in, painting etc to make our house look a little classy and we still have that retched table messing it up for us.

So today I figured I needed to scrub the kitchen floor anyways, so I decided to take it outside. I had sort of planned on sanding the top of it down and reinforcing the legs so it was still usable…but that was if it would make it out the door. It didn’t. The leg with the screws coming loose straight up ripped off the table. So then I was stuck. (not that I didn’t already know what I would do if this happened, but lets just pretend I’m not completely terrible and go with, “oh my gosh! my table just broke! I had no idea it would do that! What do I do now?!”). I decided to hide the table. In the forest. Where the kids hide the toys and other household goods they break.  Peyton helped. He was tickled at the idea. So that’s where we’re at. My kitchen doesn’t have a table, but my forest does. I’m going to put all the chairs around the invisible table and act like I have no idea what Lance is talking about.  We eat on the couch most of the time anyways.

You can’t see it from the house. Which is awesome, right?
I'm so funny?

It’s the little things, really.

Don’t act like you didn’t think this day would come. We all knew it would. I’ve dabbled in the past in this, but now…well.

I’m using my crafting for evil. 

Sure, I’ve made some vinyl ninjas that I’ve placed in weird places in people’s homes and all over Seattle, and yes, there was the vinyl “Honk if you’ve got jungle fever” sign I stuck on the back of my single white female friend’s car. Or how I’ve used vinyl to mark my territory.  But those were kind of no brainers. And not so much crafty as cut vinyl, stick it.  Tonight’s idea. Well, I like it the most.

It’s simple. It’s little, but it makes me giggle. I got an order to do a beaded lanyard for someone. When I was making it I had to look at Lance’s work lanyard to make sure it would work. Then I decided to make Lance one. And then I decided to hide his old one so he can’t use it tomorrow. He has to have his badge on at all times. 
He’s going to look SO pretty!
I'm so funny?

It’s that time again

You should see my house. You should see my waistline! There are so many other things I could be doing. But I’m not. I’m here because I LOVE you. And because one day I hope to get this blog of awesomeness sponsored because even though it’s kind of lousy and I really don’t put any thought or effort into it, I want to make large amounts of cash on it. It’s the American way. I swear it.

Aaaaand you’re welcome.