Angela’s Unsolicited Parenting Advice – Your Kids Come First!

Sorry today’s post isn’t funny. But it needs to be said. 

parenting advice graphic

You parents who are constantly missing your kids’ ballgames, dance recitals, field trips, band concerts, practices, etc. because you’re always out chasing your own fun….YOU SUCK!

Ya know that?

YOU SUCK ROYALLY!!!!(I wish I could make the font way bigger to seem like I’m yelling!)

Your kids are changing everyday. And you’re missing out on some of the most incredible moments of their lives. And your life, if you could stop thinking about yourself long enough to realize this.

Their days of needing you are numbered. Your days of cheering them on and helping with their homework won’t last forever. It’ll be over sooner than you think. And there’s no rewind button.

When they’re grown, you’ll probably still have plenty of time to chase your own vacations and hobbies and marathons and online dating flings. But you’ll never have a second chance at raising your kids.

Please be present in their lives. Support them. Love them. Laugh with them. Just be there.

If not, please don’t bore us with stories and Facebook photos of all your cool adventures. We don’t want to hear about them.

– said Angela to no one in particular

(I’m not talking to you parents who sometimes miss events because you have to work your butts off to keep food on the table and pay the bills. You have my respect.)

(And I’m not talking to those of you who miss an occasional kids’ activity because you’re doing something fun for yourself. We all need time to ourselves every now and then. Just not all the freakin’ time.)

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If You were a Fly on the Wall in My Life

Welcome to a Fly on the Wall group post. Today 15 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house.

These are all 100% genuine quotes and thoughts from my family over the past month or so.

File Under Toilet Humor:

walking to school the other day

JACK: “Ya know I never go poo at school.”

ME: (grappling with the new topic that seems to have come out of nowhere) “Why not?”

JACK: “Because the toilet paper is really bad quality. It doesn’t even have little flowers printed on it!”

while shopping at Walmart

ANDREW: “It’s funny, you see all these people at tables offering samples of crackers and stuff. I wonder what customers would say if we set up a table near the restrooms and asked people to try a sample of toilet paper while they were in there.”

ME: “And then, when they came out, we’d ask them to rate their experience with it.”


ME: (buying oranges) “Maybe I’ll make some ambrosia.”

JACK: “Ambrosia! I thought that was a disease.”

after school yesterday

ME: “Jack are you still in the bathroom?”

JACK: “Yeah, but I’m doing my homework.”

ME: “They should print warnings on Life Cereal that it gives you terrible smelling gas.”

ANDREW: “Mom, we’re out of O’s. Will you get some more next time you go to Walmart?”

ME: “Does it give you gas?”

ANDREW: “I don’t think so.”

ME: “Then sure.”


JACK: “Don’t you hate it when you fart and then go stand somewhere else to get away from the smell. And then you realize it followed you?”

ME: “Yeah, I do.”

File Under Angela’s Strange Thoughts

easter selfie

Easter Sunday Selfie

Easter Sunday

We’re thankful everyday that Jesus Christ is our savior and messiah. But what I really want to know is what kind of carpenter he was. Was he highly sought after by wealthy Pharisees? Or was he more of a day laborer, subcontractor just picking up odd jobs when needed?

And how did performing miracles affect his building career?

“Well, it looks like Jesus Christ won’t be available to do our bathroom remodel until August. Ever since he cured that boy’s leprosy, he’s booked solid.”

“Wow, that’s a really cool trick you did, turning the water into wine, Jesus. How bout you turn these burnt orange Formica countertops into granite.”

I wonder if Jesus’ clients’ home values increased after he was crucified and rose from the dead?

“Honey, in the real estate flyer, be sure to say that the back deck and gazebo were built by Jesus Christ.”


This photo came up when I Googled “Jesus Carpentry.” I’m pretty sure it’s not authentic.

(I mean absolutely no disrespect but surely others have had similar thoughts.)

Sometimes we have pizza for dinner

When I pick up my pizza order from Papa John’s, they always have to open the box and show it to me. And I never know how I’m supposed to respond.

“Yep, that’s definitely a pizza in there. Mission accomplished!”

“Well, I’ll just be damned! You boys have really outdone yourselves this time! I’ll be sure to call the 800 number and happily complete the survey.”

“It’s so beautiful. I wish I could frame it.”

papa johns


Kids’ Baseball

Pretty much every day of my life

“Are your baseball pants clean?”

“What time is practice?”

“When is practice over?”

“How are we going to squeeze dinner in between practices?”

“Another tournament in Yorktown!”

“Another tournament in Mechanicsville!”

Miscellaneous Commentary

ME: “Someone or something keeps killing moles in the front yard and eating only half of them.”

JAMES: “Well, it’s not me.”

ME: “I was suspecting one of the cats, but thanks for clearing your name.”


They always eat only the front end. Seems like it’s a waste of perfectly good mole meat. (is that even a mole? It’s hard to tell,)

ANDREW: “Can you move the vehicles so we can play basketball?”

ME: (grumbling) “I can’t believe we used to take ample driveway space for granted at the old house.”


I had a parenting epiphany yesterday. (Sounds like a mess, doesn’t it…like “I had an epiphany all over the carpet.”…sorry)

Anyway, It occurred to me that you have to yell at your kids occasionally…or at least be really stern, and get in their faces… so they’ll take you seriously. Parents who are always nice and don’t realize that they’re the boss, wind up having kids who have no manners and treat them like doormats.

I never thought about it in that context before. On the occasions that I’ve yelled or barked at Andrew and Jack, it was because I was mad. And when I get angry, yelling comes naturally.

I didn’t plan it out, thinking, “maybe I should yell here so the boys will take me seriously and know that I’m the boss. Ok, here I go. I’ll start yelling now for their own good.”

But I’m glad that I’ve gotten mad and put them in their places when it was necessary, because I have really awesome, well-behaved boys, who know their limits, respect adults and refuse to allow themselves to be disrespected by others.

andrew and jack

That’s kind of a good thing that happened quite by accident. Sometimes, amid all the parenting guilt, you realize that you did something well without even planning it that way.

(Does that even remotely make sense?)

That’s all I’ve got for this Fly on the Wall. Buzz around a few other bloggers’ posts and see what’s happening at their houses.                          Baking In A Tornado                          Spatulas on Parade                          Follow me home                          Menopausal Mother                        Stacy Sews and Schools                                   Battered Hope                                  Just A Little Nutty                                        The Momisodes                            Someone Else’s Genius                                Disneyland in Kentucky                    Searching for Sanity                                Sanity Waiting to Happen                             The Sadder But Wiser Girl                                   Dinosaur Superhero Mommy                         Juicebox Confession

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Quirky, Vintage Home Decor a la Angela (aka photos of stuff in my house)

Recently someone in a blogging group suggested that we post photos of things around our homes and tell the stories that go with them. I thought it was a good idea as long as nothing I post leads to an arrest warrant. Hopefully all that evidence has been destroyed. 

When it comes to decorating, my choices fall into four categories.

1) Old

2) Weird, odd, strange, humorous, preferably a little disconcerting

3) Not mass-produced (If it is mass produced, it should be old and/or weird.)

4) Anything made by one of my kids, no matter how crappy it looks

Here are a few of my favorite things.

IMG_1384 IMG_1385

I love vintage bottles. Especially ones that contain old medicines or poisons. They give guests a welcoming “don’t-eat-anything-they-give-you” sort of vibe. We’ve gotten some great comments about the chloroform, formaldehyde and strychnine in the powder room. The Laudanum bottle used to be half full. I guess sampling is okay.

The Dixie Blind Staggers Remedy is a special piece. Growing up, when one of us was sick, my dad would say that we had the “blind staggers.” I’d always thought it was just a funny illness that he made up until running across the orange box in an antique store in Petersburg. Of course, I had to buy it.


This is my all time favorite purchase from the Treasure Store in Dublin, GA. It’s a fish reading a book. He must be over 40 because he’s wearing little reading glasses.


It might seem silly, but I still display my kids’ old artwork from preschool to now for every holiday. Here’s our St. Patrick’s theme in really bad lighting. No matter how old the boys get, I want to enjoy their creativity all throughout the year…not just when I’m looking at scrapbooks.


Jack always wanted an outdoors/hunting themed bedroom. The hornet nest in the corner used to hang in my brother’s room after he found it in the woods 30 years ago. (Gosh, I’m getting old.) Luckily it had been vacant for quite a while. Guess the hornet real estate market was slow that year.

I would show you pics of Andrew’s room, but his laundry hamper and bat bag exploded in there at some point last night and he’s still in bed, asleep.


My first ever Pinterest project. We already had the old plywood and paint. I printed out the letters myself and the frames were $1 each.


Valspar La Fonda Sombrero

I started painting the upstairs hall the other day. Starting is much easier than finishing.


Weird California, Weird Georgia and Weird Virginia books-Sterling Publishing.

Did I mention that I like weird stuff? These books are available for every state (I think). I painted the eyeball tree pic in the background, trying to be like one of my favorite Etsy artists, Kerri Ambrosino.


I have a thing for old funeral home fans. They’re lovely yet sort of creepy.


My chalk-painted Goodwill frame display. It still needs something, but I’m not sure what. (Don’t say pictures.) I might just trash the whole thing and start over.


My granny’s piano. That’s her in the picture. At age 12, she and my great aunt Gladys, her twin sister, starting playing the organ and piano for the First Christian Church in Wrightsville, GA. Rarely missing a Sunday, they were the church musicians until shortly before Granny passed away at age 86. Their renditions of “In the Garden” and “Softly and Tenderly” could bring tears to your eyes.


Kids’ art gallery wall…except in this case the kids’ art was painted by a middle-aged me.

I thought I might be an artist once, but every time I displayed one of my pieces, people would ask if Andrew or Jack painted it in kindergarten.


This is my favorite. I call it “Untrustworthy Orange Cat.”


This is “Embarrassed Plaid Moose.”


Old farm tables with painted chairs are so cool to me.


West Elm Dapper Animal Plates

These are from West Elm. The idea of woodland creatures dressed in human clothing makes me smile.


Old Treasure Store typewriter, elementary art class pottery projects and a photo of James and me from 13 years ago that reminds me how much I’ve aged.

IMG_1396 IMG_1398

This old hat box and giant dollar watch metal thing are from Hall Brothers Department store in Wrightsville, GA. It was started by my great grandfather, then passed to my grandfather and then to my dad. As a little kid, I had a large time hiding inside the circular clothing racks and shouting “BOO” at unsuspecting shoppers as they pushed the hangers aside. (They didn’t seem to enjoy this game as much as I did.)


Who doesn’t need an old paper cutter from Crazy Jack’s Antique Bazaar in Chesterfield?


One can never have too many quilts…a motto I adopted from my mom.


Loyal Mr. Giant Metal Rooster stands guard in the front flower bed. His menacing presence scares off any would-be burglars.

angela book cover

Click here to download my book.

Finally, here’s a shameless plug for my ebook available for download on your kindle or kindle smart phone app. It has 60 humor essays guaranteed to bring a few laughs and rumored to cure PMS.

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How do you Pronounce Jaguar? Please Settle this Debate Between James and Me Before there’s Bloodshed.

Okay, it’s not like we sit around talking about big cats or luxury cars all the time. But when someone says the word jaguar, an argument (or at least a spirited debate) always ensues.

IMG_5010jaguar ar jaguar cat

*For those of you who are engaged to be married or in a serious relationship, don’t jump into a lifelong commitment without making sure that you agree on the pronunciation on every single word in the English language (and any other languages you speak.) Your marriage will be much stronger if you do.

So, here’s what started our latest jaguar argument.

ME: “So this kid on Andrew’s team hit a fly ball over the fence and it smacks a car in the parking lot.HARD! Then one of the dads on the other side yells ‘Glad it didn’t hit my JAGUAR!’ He like like yelled the word Jaguar way louder to make sure we all heard it.”

“I thought he was joking! But sure enough, I looked in the parking lot and there was the shiny gray Jaguar that Mr. ‘I-want-everyone-to-know-I’ve-got-money’ was pointing at. I mean, what kind of person says something like that without making himself seem like a pompous, arrogant prick?  Can you believe some people? Why would anyone think that announcing they own a Jaguar would impress people. It just makes them seem needy and shallow. Not to mention pompous and arrogant, but I think I already said that.”

JAMES: “It’s pronounced “Jagwire” not Jagwaar.”

ME: “Oh geez! Not this again! You completely missed my point. I was talking about why people feel the need to point out how rich they are, like we don’t have eyes or something. And they don’t even realize that it makes them look stupid. And it is SO pronounced Jagwaar…as in Jag+war (rhymes with car).

JAMES: “It’s Jag+wire (rhymes with fire).

ANDREW: “Dad’s right, Mom. No one pronounces it like you do.”

ME: “Get OUT!”

The commercials don’t help either because they have that British voice-over guy who says “Jaguwuh” like he’s all out of breath from lusting over the car.

So, my dear readers, maybe y’all can help settle this once and for all. Tell me how you pronounce Jaguar. And if you happen to own one, please don’t feel the need to brag about it unless you want people to laugh at what an insecure schmuck you are.

*Just to be clear, I have nothing against Jaguar owners or people with money. Just those who announce it to the world.

And, by the way, how do you pronounce realtor, veteran, lawyer and crayon?

Here’s a link to my ebook. At $2.99, it’s the perfect St. Patrick’s Day/April Fools/Easter present for that special someone in your life.

angela book cover

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Pip Squeaker Shoes: A Surefire Way to Make Your Toddler Want to Murder You

This morning at Kroger, I was strongly tempted to put down the cantaloupe I was checking for freshness and call DFACS about the cute, yet neurologically abusive shoes a mom was making her daughter wear. Yep, I’m sure you’ve already guessed it. They were the kind with squeakers.(Squeakers, Little Green Trikes, Wee Squeak Baby Shoes, Pip Squeakers Little Monkey Feet: These are some of the common street names.)


What kind of sadistic kids’ footwear company would manufacture shoes with  squeakers in the soles? So that with EVERY step the poor kid takes, he or she hears squeak, squeak, squeak. As if learning to take steady, unassisted steps isn’t difficult enough, having to deal with the accompaniment of shrill, annoying noise pollution is just maddening.

Hey parent, you think it’s so blasted cute watching your daughter confusedly try to figure out where that noise is coming from with each wobbly step she takes. Do YOU enjoy realizing that you accidentally selected the squeaky shopping cart at WalMart?

“Oh freakin’ yay, for the next 45 minutes, I get to listen to that unpleasant, whistling sound with every wheel rotation. Forget it! I’m going back to get another one.”

Sure, at first the kid is mildly amused with the squeaking novelty, but after half an hour, the neurological effect rivals Chinese water torture. You silly moms probably think your kid is toddling all over the house for his own amusement. But really, he’s searching desperately for the liquor cabinet, so he can drown out the racket.

And think of the unfortunate siblings and pets who have to endure this! For those with super sensitive ears, the nervous system damage is similar to that of second-hand smoke.

(an actual defense from a squeaky shoe buying mom)

“I like them because I can hear my daughter wherever she goes. I know where she is even when she’s out of my sight.”

Sure, Mrs. Einstein, I bet your cat, the one with the anxiety disorder, has a bell on his collar too. That’s why you keep catching him stealing your Xanax.

Here’s an idea! Put down your phone and actually watch where your daughter is running off to. Then you won’t need the squeakers. Then, 15 years from now, she won’t shoot you with a 44 Magnum while you sleep.

(Did you see the little girl running and screaming to escape the auditory cruelty?)

No research has been done on the long term effects of squeaky toddler shoes (I Googled it.) But I’m pretty sure that in a few years a disturbing similarity will emerge among America’s petty thieves, arsonists, serial killers, drug abusers, sexual predators and fanny pack wearers. And the root cause will be undeniable.


I’m told that the guy getting arrested in this photo wore squeaky shoes as a baby.

If you know someone who puts squeaky shoes on their child, it’s your responsibility to closely follow this person around, rhythmically sounding an air horn for hours at a time. It might also help to buy them season one of Criminal Minds on DVD. Be sure to tape photos of their precious child wearing the squeaky shoes all over the box. You might need to draw an arrow from the title down to the shoes. (some people need hints.)

If you’d like to read more essays like this one, click here to download my new ebook for your Amazon Kindle or Kindle app on your smart phone. 60 laugh out loud essays for only $2.99.

angela book cover

But wait! There’s more!

Okay, there’s really not more. I just always wanted to say that.

Posted in Criminal Minds, Little Green Trike, Little Monkey Feet, Pip Squeakers, Squeaky Toddler Shoes, Wee Squeak | 32 Comments

Famous First Lines of Blog Posts I Never Finished

I start way more blog posts than I publish. I bet most bloggers probably do. My drafts folder is getting out of hand…just like the floor of my closet. So as not to waste these brilliant thoughts, I’m going to share them here…just the first lines or two or three..maybe a paragraph. Thanks to my blogger friend, Michelle, of Straight from Helle for the idea.

-What do people mean when they say “cat got your tongue?” Was there a time in history when cats wreaked havoc on tribes of people by ripping out their tongues? Seems like we’d have learned about that in school.

-I miss my close girl friends back in Dublin. They were the perfect mixture of insecure, haughty and self deprecating.

-The other day Jack said he wished that our tears were made of apple juice. That way we’d get a nice treat whenever we cried. I like that idea a lot. But it’d be an awful temptation if you were a recovering alcoholic and your tears were made of vodka.

-I always wanted to have a son named Jim. When people asked if it was short for James, I’d say “no, his full name is Gymnasium.”

-Do people who constantly dominate conversations ever realize that they’re annoying as Hell?

-I wish we could download fart tones the same way we download ringtones. Flatulence would be so much more entertaining that way. I bet Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “That Smell” would be a really popular one.

-It was really embarrassing when I realized that you’re only supposed to stop, drop and roll when you, yourself are on fire. Not just when you catch something on fire. Rather than rolling around on the floor, I could’ve just put the darn thing out.

-People back in Dublin seem so much more laid back than the tightly wound, overprotective parents here in Virginia. I can’t decide if it’s a Northern vs Southern thing or if people in rural areas are just easier going and don’t make such a big deal out of things.

The first time I took Andrew and Jack to the pool, we marveled at the moms applying layer upon layer of SPF 3,000 sunblock on their kids, who were wearing long sleeved swim shirts, floppy hats, knee length shorts and water shoes. “I think that lady’s about to pull out a paint roller,” laughed Andrew. (I wrote this right after we moved to VA. Since then, I’ve met lots of very cool moms.)

   -On our mission trip to New Mexico, I met a girl with wide purple streaks in her hair who told me she had the gift of reading people’s auras. My first reaction was to ask if she could return it for something more practical like a crock pot. But instead I asked her what my aura was saying.

“I see bright, lively bands of orange surrounding you. You’re always happy. You have a sunny disposition.” I was flattered, yet skeptical, because I was wearing an orange t-shirt and it was a beautiful, sunny day outside. What if we’d met at a funeral and I was wearing a dingy straight jacket and had had Xanax for breakfast? -I wish the guy who’s working on my dishwasher would stop referring to it as “she” and “her.” And he talks to it when I leave the room. No one talks to my appliances but me!

-Thinking about all the hours I’ve spent staring into my closet, wondering what to wear, makes me think that nudists must have more common sense than we give them credit for.

-I’d love to get a job as a paint color namer. But I’d probably get fired because no one wants to paint their living room “infected mosquito bite” or “sweat stain brown.”

-I just heard someone use the expression “happy as a clam.” Are clams like little self help gurus of the ocean? I bet they write motivational books and give seminars on gratitude and embracing life. And I bet every time a clam gets caught in a net, the other shell fish are like “how happy are ya now? you pompous jackass.”

-I guess it’s a bad idea to eat Oreos while you’re licking your Christmas card envelopes. But, to be honest, it’s probably the closest I’ll come to sending out baked goods this year.

-I wish my friends would stop talking about wanting new boobs all the time. If I were to get breast implants, I’d want to get them six months apart. That way I’d be able to pay cash for them. And having a cyclops boob would make people really uncomfortable.

If you’d like to read more essays like this one, click here to download my new ebook for your Amazon Kindle or Kindle app on your smart phone. 60 laugh out loud essays for only $2.99.

angela book cover

But wait! There’s more!

Okay, there’s really not more. I just always wanted to say that.

Posted in breast implants, cat got your tongue, downloadable fart tones, famous first lines, happy as a clam, how are paint colors named, lynyrd skynyrd's "that smell", New MExico mission trip, paint color names, people who talk too much, reading auras, stop drop and roll, unfinished blog drafts | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

What to do About Buster Posey Bullying Bob and Martha


ME: “It’s too bad there’s not a Humane Society for fish.”

JACK: “Yeah, for all those stray fish we see on the side of the road.”

(Jack can be so sarcastic. I wonder where he gets it.)

I’ve never thought about where you take a pet fish that doesn’t play well with his tank mates before. But it’s a real problem. One that I’m having right now.

IMG_1133This is Buster Posey. He’s a lovely cobra guppy. Just look at that tail. I try not to compliment him often because he’s terribly vain and says rude things to the other fish, pointing out their uneven fins and crossed eyes and such.

Superficial insults aren’t his only offense. Buster Posey constantly stalks Evan Longoria and Mad Bum, nipping at their tails. And he’s just awful to our platies, Bob and Martha.* (Just last night, he appeared to be violating Bob in a men’s prison sort of way.)


Evan Longoria and Mad Bum. They’re not very photogenic.


Bob and Martha. Poor guy is heading for the safe haven of the tiki head in this photo.

My attempts at counseling Buster Posey about his behavior and even putting him in the time out net, have had no effect. He’s gotten worse, if anything. Bob, undoubtedly traumatized, has taken to hiding in the crocodile skull most of the day.


I called Petco to see if I could exchange Buster for a more placid fish, maybe a Brandon Crawford or a Gregor Blanco. But, without a receipt, it wasn’t an option.

The thought of flushing Buster Posey down the toilet or feeding him to my cat seems so vile. I wish I could find a new home for him, perhaps a nice foster family that has experience working with fish who have behavior issues. But where does one find a fish foster family?  I wonder if DFCS would know.

So it continues. Every time I walk into the kitchen, Buster Posey is chasing Bob around the tank until the poor defeated platy swims repeatedly into the glass. He’s going to wind up with broken facial bones and I really don’t need a vet bill right now. I wonder what Dr. Morris would say if I brought in an inch long fish with a possible concussion.


This is Eddie. NO ONE messes with Eddie.


This morning, I finally had enough and flushed Buster Posey down the toilet in the hall bathroom. My lack of emotion and nonchalant attitude about the whole thing is a little scary. I don’t know what I’m capable of anymore.

When Jack came down for breakfast, I made a big production of looking for Buster Posey like I’d just noticed he was missing. “Oh well, I guess he ran away.”

That makes me a murderer and a liar.


*Bob’s first wife, Laura, died of complications from pregnancy, according to Dustin, the Petco aquarium attendant who always smells like pot. Jack and I had taken her body in for an autopsy. It’s not a service they normally provide.

After a proper two-week mourning period, we purchased a new spouse for Bob and named her Martha, after James’ human cousin and his wife. I mean, who wouldn’t want the honor of having a $1.29 freshwater aquarium fish named after them?


The real Bob and Martha. They’re very nice. Nothing fishy about them.

f you’d like to read more essays like this one, click here to download my new ebook for your Amazon Kindle or Kindle app on your smart phone. 60 laugh out loud essays for only $2.99.

angela book cover

But wait! There’s more!

Okay, there’s really not more. I just always wanted to say that.

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February Funny Friday is Climbing to Great Heights!

Today’s post is this month’s Funny Friday, a regular feature published on the last Friday of every month. Funny Friday is a collaborative project. Each month one of the participants submits a picture, then we all write 5 captions or thoughts inspired by that month’s picture. Links to the other bloggers’ posts are below, click on them and see what they’ve come up with. I hope we bring a smile to your face as you start your weekend.


Here is today’s picture. It was submitted by me. Yay! (With permission from my cat Cali, of course.)

13 - Sanity Waiting to happen Feb 2014

1) “Why yes, I have got your tongue. And you’ll never figure out where I’m hiding it.”

2) “Darn you, Auto Correct! I ordered an ATTACK CAT, not an attic cat!”

3) This must be that “corporate ladder” I keep hearing about.

4) “Before we close on the house, we had to have an inspection done. So, I called Feline Home Inspectors. They’re fast, friendly and affordable. And I can’t get that song from their commercials out of my head.”

5) “Ma’am, it appears you’ve got a bit of a rodent problem here in the attic. You could set out traps. Or for a small fee, I could eat them all.”

Click on the links below and see what the other bloggers came up with.

The Bergham’s Life Chronicles (

Follow me home (

Baking In A Tornado (

Someone Else’s Genius (

Confessions of a part-time working mom (

The Momisodes (

Spatulas on Parade  (

Juicebox Confession  (

Cluttered Genius (

Stacy Sews and Schools (

People Don’t Eat Enough Fudge (

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Monster Jam Tonight at Richmond Coliseum

Hey, Richmond friends, I know you’re sick, sick, sick of the snow and are probably entertaining the idea of eating your young thanks to cabin fever setting in. Repeat after me…”it’s time to leave the house!”

Grab your coat and ear plugs and meet me at the Richmond Coliseum for Monster Jam. It’s tonight and tomorrow night only. And it’s one of those things you’ll always regret not doing if you miss it.

Screenshot 2015-02-12 at 3.34.12 PM

If you’re not into monster truck feats, then go for the people watching. You can fill up your Instagram just photographing all the “interesting” characters you’ll see. (I’ll be one of them.)


But seriously, I can’t wait to see Grave Digger in action, even though its driver wasn’t interested in being interviewed by me.


Other trucks staring in tonight’s event are:

El Toro Loco

Max D



and lots of others. (To be honest, I’m not sure which trucks will be there because I can’t find it on the Monster Jam website and there are way too many trucks on their site. So I guess it’s safe to say that there will be Monster trucks there, but I don’t know which ones. Grave Digger had better be one of them or I might hurt someone…No, that’s not a threat.)


Click here to visit the Monster Jam site.

Click here to buy tickets.

See you there!

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Wordless Wednesday: Snow Days in Virginia

(If you’re new to my blog, here’s a little background info.) I’ve never lived in a place that gets more than a microscopic dusting of snow once a year. Until now. And I may never get used to it.

Depending on your to-do list, snow is either a fun novelty or a mixture of inconvenience and misery.

Case in point:

Yesterday, there was much sledding and snowball fighting. I started building a snowman, but only got the head done before realizing it was too much work and we were out of carrots. We sledded down the great big hill at the elementary school with dozens of neighbors until the sun started to set. It was awesome.

Today, Jack and I both woke up with bad colds. My toes are burning and raw, despite always wearing wool socks and fur-lined, water proof boots. WebMD says it’s Reynaud’s Disease. I need to go to the store, but the roads are icy.

I wish snow was like a Netflix movie that you could rent for a couple of hours and then move on to more convenient weather.

Crap, this was supposed to be a Wordless Wednesday. And I’ve already written 203 words. Here are a few pics and very short videos of us wiping out yesterday.


The stream and walk-through tunnel just down from our house. You can see the sledding trails.


The snowball fight gets real.


About a “foot” deep.


Why are beanies designed to fit cone-headed people. If I want to be able to see, it fits like the Pope’s hat. If I want it to fit, then forget about seeing. Who are these things really made for?


Jack’s friend Silas pulling Shari, his mom.


Heading down the big hill.

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