Things Every Mom Says Or Just Mine

I love that Twitter is trending #ThingsEveryMomSays because if gives me a chance to share one of my favorite quotes my crazy mom used to say…

 

“Honey, I HAD you to do the dishes. You should be thanking the dishes. It is because of the dishes you exist.”

Every year I think my mother was smarter than the year before.

Here is a story about my mom called “Back Back Before You Could Just Go And Buy Boobies” that includes the obvious mention of boobs and chicken poop and how you can use one to get the other.

Recently, when asking one of my 12 year olds to empty the dishwasher, he replies with, “I’ll give you $20 to do it for me mom.”

I say, “That is terrible. What would I be teaching you if I were to say yes?”

My 12 year old replies, “OK, fine $40.”

Now I am thinking I may just take his money to teach him a whole new lesson. I turned around and shot him a look, completely accidental, and he began unloading. Lesson learned…12 year olds these days have too much cash.

When they were little they would sneak and “wash” the dishes!
-Abbie, allthatmakesyou.com

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All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing.

The Bethenny Frankel Show Called Me!!!

I have to share this super exciting thing that happened about a week ago. I share this because I realize this is probably as far as my very exciting story is going to go. As usual, my frontal lobe is defective and I ramble things off that perhaps I shouldn’t, even to television producers!

As some of my regular readers know I have been busy updating all three of our boys rooms. I had the phone practically in my hand for about a week straight talking to carpet people, painters, and furniture salesperson. I kept measuring and they kept calling me back with info and prices and since nearly all of these contacts were local I was shocked when, while the phone was in my hand, the caller ID said…

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA!!!!

Who calls me from Los Angeles, California? I might get Temecula or some other former goat town in California but Los Angeles proper?

I answer, “Hello.”

Pleasant young woman, “May I speak to Abbie… Ssss….how do you pronounce the last name?”

I chuckle and say, “It is just as it looks.” and then I say my married last name and then I say, “I tried to get my husband to take my last name when we got married. It would have been so much easier, _______. It even rhymes, Jim _______.”

Nice lady on the phone chuckles now.

Who am I talking to I wonder? This is the kindest bill collector I have ever spoken with. I’m kidding!

She says, “This is _____ from the Bethenny Frankel Talk Show.”

I have instant heart palpitations. Spontaneous combustion is occurring from my ears up and my kids are erupting into what I can tell already is going to morph into World War III in the kitchen below me.

I move into a spare bathroom on the second floor in hopes she cannot hear my boys and in hopes my boys don’t find me.

I am going to sound cool, sound cool. Bethenny, in my world and my head is AMAZING. I get her. We had similar childhoods. I understand her abrasive, at times, personality and I know that it comes from having to be her own parent and knowing how to “talk like a man.” I get her need to show people she is worth something and has value and her desire to have a family of her own, to do it right. I understand her drive and let me try to say this without sounding nuts, (like I would think anyone else saying this about someone they have never MET) I think she is all that with a side of chips.

When hearing about Bethenny’s new talk show I checked it out online and they were advertising an upcoming show about friendship. They were asking people to submit a letter about any friendship their viewers may have had that was special.

I had just posted my story “Two Broke(n) Girls.” It was perfect timing and so I forwarded it on. The best part, they are going to choose two friends to fly out and be on the show.

Did I think I was going to get chosen?

Of course!

The same way people fantasize about winning the lottery, I am fantasizing about my girlfriend and I running away to CAL-i-forn-“I”-“A” to meet Bethenny Frankel! Heck, I think ALL of my neighborhood girlfriend peeps would fly out for that!

Is she calling to tell me we won?!!!!

My hands are shaking!

She says, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Me, “Yeah. Sure. No problem.” This was said in a much slower and lower tone than my voice really is. Do I always sound like a pot head when I am trying to NOT sound like me?

“Are you married?”

Me, “Yes.”

“Do you have children?”

Me, “Yes, three boys.”

“Oh…how old are they?”

Me, “7, 12, 12.”

“Oh, uh..”

Me, “We have twins. They are the ones that are 12.”

What is wrong with me?!!! Really, I had to explain that the 12 year-olds are the twins and not the 7 year-old and one of the 12 year-olds? I am so distracted by the sounds of my boys screaming, “Mom told you not to give me Charlie horse! I’m telling!”

She asks, “And how old are you?

I tell her my age.

I am now running down the back stairs while I hear my three boys running up the front stairs and fighting like a giant “Fight Club” tumbleweed every step.

I am in a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top with no bra, a very thin tank top.

She asks, “And your husband’s age?”

I answer with his age (I am not telling you and you will find out why in a moment.)

I am now running through our garage towards the driveway.

She says, “Awwww, that is so cute. You and your husband are the same age.”

I am now running down my driveway, but really bouncing, in broad daylight, while I hear my boys who were “against” each other have now turned on me.

I hear the boys screaming things like, “WHERE ARE YOU MOM?!”

Another yells, “I see her! She is outside on her stupid phone, walking down the street.”

Here they all come out of the garage and after me…

I say to the nice girl who works for Bethenny Frankel, “Oh yes, not only are we the same age we are born the same week AND with baby Jesus’s birthday right between us.”

WTF did I just say? What DID I just say?

I am fully prepared to run onto the golf cart path, barefoot, and with my cell phone, sans bra, and with my husbands underwear on as I realize this is a once in a lifetime chance for…I don’t even know what yet.

She is now laughing instead of chuckling. Thank God.

I am thinking, she doesn’t know me and my sense of humor. You can’t say things like that to someone you don’t REALLY know. What if she is Jewish? What does that have to do with anything? What if she thinks I am a religious freak and I really use the term, “baby Jesus” regularly in my speech?

She says, “Have you read “Fifty Shades of Grey?”

When I submitted the “Two Broke(n) Girls” story they were also chatting on Bethenny’s new site about “Fifty Shades of Grey” and how it has changed their reader’s sex life. I, the ever-present smart ass, replies with my post I had also just written that week called, “Poor Husbands and their Wives’ Naughty Books.”

They weren’t calling about my “Two Broke(n) Girls” story?

I answer, “NOOO! I can’t read it because my dad will read it first on his Kindle and then he will want to have a book club discussion and I am not discussing a mom porn book with my dad and I cannot borrow a girlfriends hard copy because, well… I don’t know where it has been and what if a page is sticky? My mind would make it into something worse when it was probably just candy hands. Frankly, I feel like I have already read the book since all my naughty girlfriends are giving me the “blow-by-blow” of the three books…”

That is how I talk. Commas do not enter into my speech and my frontal lobe, which is supposed to filter what we say, has apparently completely stopped working.

She is chuckling again, “Yeah, I just wanted to call and see if you had read it yet.”

I say, “Crap, I was hoping you were calling about my post about friendship and the reference letter I wrote to my BFF’s new neighbors when they meet her and decide they hate her at first, (like I did) and why they should give her a second chance. It is honestly funnier than my “Fifty Shades of Grey” post.”

Did I just try to give someone advice on what to put on their talk show? Did I just hint that my “Grey” post wasn’t good?

OH-MY-WORD! What if I get invited to be on a show about the “naughty book?” If I don’t get banned from my kids southern schools for my post about the gay marriage vote in my home state of North Carolina I will FO SHO get shunned if I go on a talk show about a sex and bondage book.

Sign me up as I am sure this means they won’t ask me to come in and be a “scissor mom” or count “Box Tops” for the school PTO after that!

We talked for a few more minutes while I continued to ignore my kids chasing me down the street shouting things like, “ARE YOU TELLING DAD ON US?!” and, “WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?!” and, “YOU SAID YOU WOULD GROUND HIM IF HE PUNCHED ME IN THE SHOULDER AGAIN!” and, “I WANNA TALK TO DAD!”

She told me she, “liked my energy” and I continued to try to act cool, like talk shows call me regularly. I may have said my group of girlfriends were, “The Real Housewives of North Carolina.”

Yep, I did and collectively between that and the other things that slipped past my lips and the three screaming banshees that followed me everywhere, I realize I will probably never hear from that nice girl again.

I have had so much fun telling my girlfriends the story that it is (ALMOST) just as good.

Follow me or start hammer tweeting (here) Bethenny Frankel or post on her FaceBook wall (here) or comment (here) on Pinterest, (I will send you an invitation if you aren’t on even he, he) to give Abbie at “All that makes you…” a second chance because surely I have enough stories for my own show. I have “dirty” school noodle art.

Oooooo…Bethenny could bring in that British Nanny to make my kids stop calling my phone and computer and blog “STUPID.” I think a shock collar and remote I keep in my pocket would work. They say “stupid” and I say PAVLOV’S DOGS! For Pete’s sake people I am kidding! I just did it again! I just told the “Nanny Show” how to do their job.

-Abbie, and I hope we can share all that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry and cry laughing. allthatmakesyou.com

http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/bethenny-frankel-prefers-good-conversation-celebrities-talk-show-article-1.1092336?localLinksEnabled=false

Watching Old Sitcoms With Our Kids

Watching “old” sitcoms with our kids.

Do you remember Doogie Howser, MD doing things like an “emergency” pelvic exam…ON HIS GIRLFRIEND?  Well, he does.

Our three boys love watching Doogie Howser, MD with all its nerdy, dated glory and friend Vinny makes them belly laugh.  We didn’t remember the show dealing with such “racy” topics that have required some previewing by us before letting our little guys watch.   If you could have seen my husband and I running for the remote when Vinny was showing off the condom in his wallet he was planning on using that night.

Doogie and Vinny, as played by our 12 year-old IDENTICAL twins, were last Halloween’s hit, (only with adults over 35 who knew who they were.)  It took an entire can of black hairspray to turn Avery into Vinny.

This picture shows how much they look like normally…

“Who wants to watch Little House on the Prairie with me tonight?”

Peter, “Why would anyone NOT want to watch Little House on the Prairie!”

I’m thinking Peter would make an awesome Laura Ingalls next Halloween. You have no idea how happy it makes me to watch Little House

Peter wearing my scarf and offering me a poison apple.  Wrong show but you see what I mean with thinking he could rock Laura Ingalls this fall. 

I always find it hilarious when the kids don’t connect that the actors are not REALLY the characters they portray.

We rented Smurfs to watch with our boys.  Peter, then seven, announced when he saw Neil Patrick Harris, “DOOGIE IS IN THIS MOVIE!  THERE IS DOOGIE HOWSER!”

Avery, who is twelve, looked at his younger brother with a very annoyed and sophisticated look said to Peter, “That is NOT Doogie.  I read this book and Doogie is not in the story at all.”

I don’t know if I should be worried about them all but I did what came natural.

I laughed at them all and told them they are all a bunch of DING-A-LINGS!  

I explained, for the thousandth time that these are all actors and that was indeed Doogie but playing the part of another person in a different movie because he is an ACTOR!

Good Lord.  I know one day they will be adults and watch “Harold and Kumar go to White Castle” and I would LOVE to be a fly on the wall when they see all the things “Doogie” does in that movie.

It may wreck my boys forever.

Do your kids watch any “old” TV shows?  You have to love the DVR.  It may turn my kids into super geeks, but I am ok with that.

Thanks for letting me share,

-Abbie, All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing.  allthatmakesyou.com

P.S.  ALF terrified them!  Bahahaha!

The Bethenny Frankel Show Called Me!!!

I have to share this super exciting thing that happened about a week ago. I share this because I realize this is probably as far as my very exciting story is going to go. As usual, my frontal lobe is defective and I ramble things off that perhaps I shouldn’t, even to television producers!

As some of my regular readers know I have been busy updating all three of our boys rooms. I had the phone practically in my hand for about a week straight talking to carpet people, painters, and furniture salesperson. I kept measuring and they kept calling me back with info and prices and since nearly all of these contacts were local I was shocked when, while the phone was in my hand, the caller ID said…

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA!!!!

Who calls me from Los Angeles, California? I might get Temecula or some other former goat town in California but Los Angeles proper?

I answer, “Hello.”

Pleasant young woman, “May I speak to Abbie… Ssss….how do you pronounce the last name?”

I chuckle and say, “It is just as it looks.” and then I say my married last name and then I say, “I tried to get my husband to take my last name when we got married. It would have been so much easier, _______. It even rhymes, Jim _______.”

Nice lady on the phone chuckles now.

Who am I talking to I wonder? This is the kindest bill collector I have ever spoken with. I’m kidding!

She says, “This is _____ from the Bethenny Frankel Talk Show.”

I have instant heart palpitations. Spontaneous combustion is occurring from my ears up and my kids are erupting into what I can tell already is going to morph into World War III in the kitchen below me.

I move into a spare bathroom on the second floor in hopes she cannot hear my boys and in hopes my boys don’t find me.

I am going to sound cool, sound cool. Bethenny, in my world and my head is AMAZING. I get her. We had similar childhoods. I understand her abrasive, at times, personality and I know that it comes from having to be her own parent and knowing how to “talk like a man.” I get her need to show people she is worth something and has value and her desire to have a family of her own, to do it right. I understand her drive and let me try to say this without sounding nuts, (like I would think anyone else saying this about someone they have never MET) I think she is all that with a side of chips.

When hearing about Bethenny’s new talk show I checked it out online and they were advertising an upcoming show about friendship. They were asking people to submit a letter about any friendship their viewers may have had that was special.

I had just posted my story “Two Broke(n) Girls.” It was perfect timing and so I forwarded it on. The best part, they are going to choose two friends to fly out and be on the show.

Did I think I was going to get chosen?

Of course!

The same way people fantasize about winning the lottery, I am fantasizing about my girlfriend and I running away to CAL-i-forn-“I”-“A” to meet Bethenny Frankel! Heck, I think ALL of my neighborhood girlfriend peeps would fly out for that!

Is she calling to tell me we won?!!!!

My hands are shaking!

She says, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Me, “Yeah. Sure. No problem.” This was said in a much slower and lower tone than my voice really is. Do I always sound like a pot head when I am trying to NOT sound like me?

“Are you married?”

Me, “Yes.”

“Do you have children?”

Me, “Yes, three boys.”

“Oh…how old are they?”

Me, “7, 12, 12.”

“Oh, uh..”

Me, “We have twins. They are the ones that are 12.”

What is wrong with me?!!! Really, I had to explain that the 12 year-olds are the twins and not the 7 year-old and one of the 12 year-olds? I am so distracted by the sounds of my boys screaming, “Mom told you not to give me Charlie horse! I’m telling!”

She asks, “And how old are you?

I say, “39.”

I am now running down the back stairs while I hear my three boys running up the front stairs and fighting like a giant “Fight Club” tumbleweed every step.

I am in a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top with no bra, a very thin tank top.

She asks, “And your husband’s age?”

I say, “39.”

I am now running through our garage towards the driveway.

She says, “Awwww, that is so cute. You and your husband are the same age.”

I am now running down my driveway, but really bouncing, in broad daylight, while I hear my boys who were “against” each other have now turned on me.

I hear the boys screaming things like, “WHERE ARE YOU MOM?!”

Another yells, “I see her! She is outside on her stupid phone, walking down the street.”

Here they all come out of the garage and after me…

I say to the nice girl who works for Bethenny Frankel, “Oh yes, not only are we the same age we are born the same week AND with baby Jesus’s birthday right between us.”

WTF did I just say? What DID I just say?

I am fully prepared to run onto the golf cart path, barefoot, and with my cell phone, sans bra, and with my husbands underwear on as I realize this is a once in a lifetime chance for…I don’t even know what yet.

She is now laughing instead of chuckling. Thank God.

I am thinking, she doesn’t know me and my sense of humor. You can’t say things like that to someone you don’t REALLY know. What if she is Jewish? What does that have to do with anything? What if she thinks I am a religious freak and I really use the term, “baby Jesus” regularly in my speech?

She says, “Have you read “Fifty Shades of Grey?”

When I submitted the “Two Broke(n) Girls”story they were also chatting on Bethenny’s new site about “Fifty Shades of Grey” and how it has changed their reader’s sex life. I, the ever-present smart ass, replies with my post I had also just written that week called, “Poor Husbands and their Wives’ Naughty Books.”

They weren’t calling about the “Two Broke(n) Girls?”

I answer, “NOOO! I can’t read it because my dad will read it first on his Kindle and then he will want to have a book club discussion and I am not discussing a mom porn book with my dad and I cannot borrow a girlfriends hard copy because, well… I don’t know where it has been and what if a page is sticky? My mind would make it into something worse when it was probably just candy hands. Frankly, I feel like I have already read the book since all my naughty girlfriends are giving me the “blow-by-blow” of the three books…”

That is how I talk. Commas do not enter into my speech and my frontal lobe, which is supposed to filter what we say, has apparently completely stopped working.

She is chuckling again, “Yeah, I just wanted to call and see if you had read it yet.”

I say, “Crap, I was hoping you were calling about my post about friendship and the reference letter I wrote to my BFF’s new neighbors when they meet her and decide they hate her at first, (like I did) and why they should give her a second chance. It is honestly funnier than my “Fifty Shades of Grey” post.”

Did I just try to give someone advice on what to put on their talk show? Did I just hint that my “Grey” post wasn’t good?

OH-MY-WORD! What if I get invited to be on a show about the “naughty book?” If I don’t get banned from my kids southern schools for my post about the gay marriage vote in my home state of North Carolina I will FO SHO get shunned if I go on a talk show about a sex and bondage book.

Sign me up as I am sure this means they won’t ask me to come in and be a “scissor mom” or count “Box Tops” for the school PTO after that!

We talked for a few more minutes while I continued to ignore my kids chasing me down the street shouting things like, “ARE YOU TELLING DAD ON US?!” and, “WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?!” and, “YOU SAID YOU WOULD GROUND HIM IF HE PUNCHED ME IN THE SHOULDER AGAIN!” and, “I WANNA TALK TO DAD!”

She told me she, “liked my energy” and I continued to try to act cool, like talk shows call me regularly. I may have said my group of girlfriends were, “The Real Housewives of North Carolina.”

Yep, I did and collectively between that and the other things that slipped past my lips and the three screaming banshees that followed me everywhere, I realize I will probably never hear from that nice girl again.

I have had so much fun telling my girlfriends the story that it is (ALMOST) just as good.

Follow me or start hammer tweeting (here) Bethenny Frankel or post on her FaceBook wall (here) or comment (here) on Pinterest, (I will send you an invitation if you aren’t on even he, he) to give Abbie at “All that makes you…” a second chance because surely I have enough stories for my own show. I have “dirty” school noodle art.

Oooooo…Bethenny could bring in that British Nanny to make my kids stop calling my phone and computer and blog “STUPID.” I think a shock collar and remote I keep in my pocket would work. They say “stupid” and I say PAVLOV’S DOGS! For Pete’s sake people I am kidding! I just did it again! I just told the “Nanny Show” how to do their job.

-Abbie, and I hope we can share all that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry and cry laughing. allthatmakesyou.com

http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/bethenny-frankel-prefers-good-conversation-celebrities-talk-show-article-1.1092336?localLinksEnabled=false

Identical Peters! Oh…My…Word!

I found this on my computer and cracked up.  Here is our youngest, Peter, pretending to be like his identical twin older brothers.  Do you see what a hard time he is having keeping a straight face?!

And Now, Here’s More From My Underwear Drawer!

A couple of months ago I decided to dump my underwear drawer in the middle of the floor, during a dinner party, filled with strangers.

That is my way of saying I started a blog, because that is what if felt like.  It still does every time I hit that “post” button.  I know I keep using the analogy and eventually I will get around to the story of someone actually meeting me and my underwear drawer contents at the same time.  Remind me.  I forget a lot.  So many stupid things happen to me that if I were you I would just accept the idea that I must lie.  Underwear story though, 100% true.

Every time I hit the “publish post” button I expect people to comment with things like…

– It’s like your pouring acid in my eyes with the crap you put on here.

– This is Al Gore.  You are not allowed to use the internet anymore.

– What are you doing?  People without any grammar and punctuation skills should not communicate, yet alone have a blog.

– You suck.

– What county and state do you live in so I can call Child Protective Services?

– Do you need the name of a psychiatrist?

– You are THE argument AGAINST free speech.

– “Put the laptop down.  Walk away from the laptop.” -The spirit of Steve Jobs made me type that. (stop it, it’s funny)

– Please tell me a child is writing this.

Instead, I found really, really terrific people.  I found people who never talk to me in a whine voice and end sentences with, “But it’s not fair!”  I have people from all over the world and from all walks of life reading and commenting on my silly stories.  Finally, people know why I am smiling, because I am sharing the commentary that is in my head.  It turns out my kids may not have driven me to insanity but instead they may have driven me “funny?”  No one is saying, (in same whine voice) “Your NOT funny!”

You all think it’s hilarious TOO when my 12 year-olds learned about sperm and all that they are worried about is the diameter of the “little fish” that are going to shoot out their penis hole.  They did not think I was funny when I was crying laughing because they asked if it was a “liquid or a solid?”  I can’t even remember if I told that whole story but if you remember, comment.  If I haven’t, remind me about that too.

I love comments!  They are like the good kind of Gummy Bears, Haribo.

Then I get nominated for awards!  I love awards!  I don’t get awards at home.  I get chewed up gum in the bottom of my purse when my kids don’t know where the trash can is.  I get the Lucky Charms, AFTER the kids picked out all the marshmallows.

So thank you to these kind, generous, POLITE souls who I know wouldn’t eat the cherry off my sundae before I even had a bite of ice cream.

Creative Chaos Award

Nugget of Knowledge


 

Genuine Blogger Award

READNCOOK

Dad Knows

Versatile Blogger Award

Usual Fool

READNCOOK

Plan B~each head on over and see her and give her some kind words, she needs them right now.

The Nature of Things

Sunshine Award

Belly Button Blues

READNCOOK

Dad Knows

 

And a Thank You to…

Chris Hall at Jaydon’s Playground http://paper.li/Jaydon_Daddy/1333591305

I honestly follow a ton of people and I read a lot of posts while I am waiting for the boys at various places.  I follow and scroll through and bounce around and love it when I find a post that touches me or that I can relate to, makes me laugh or squeal with delight someone is putting something that gross or naughty into words.  I  have read and will continue to read all of these folks.

Now this is how I want to share the love because I frankly don’t want to miss someone on my pass it on list.

Can you post in the comments below, links to blogs that you think I might enjoy and why?  I would love to add some new people to follow that I haven’t stumbled upon yet.  I would love all of my WordPress friends to give me input as to other blogs they think are cool as it seems we all share at least one common thread.

So many rules to these awards…

I am going to tell you a few things about me.  

This way you feel less weird or less weird your still looking at my underwear drawer trying to figure out why would I still have maternity underwear when my youngest is seven.

Favorite Maurice Sendac Book: Pierre because it taught me what could happen if you didn’t care and because Carole King sings it.

Most Unreasonable Fear, (I fully know that it is unreasonable): Wiener dogs.  I had recurring dreams as a child about wiener dogs with heads on either end.

Fight or Flight: Fight

This is for Sid Dunnebacke to Whom I Told I Don’t Play by Rules

Sunshine Award Questions:

1. What’s my favorite color? – Green

2. What’s my favorite number? – 5 and I don’t know why.

3. What’s my favorite non-alcoholic drink? Squirt, but I drink water 😦

4. Do I go for Facebook or Twitter? – FaceBook.  I am a wordy girl!

5. What’s my passion? – My boys.

6. What’s my favorite pattern? – Paisley.  Paisley!  Which gets me into all kinds of trouble because it is my husbands least favorite.  The black bathroom wallpaper with 4′ paisley I had hung, he noticed.

7. What’s my favorite day of the week? – Saturday.  I mean, I guess. (copied 😉

8. What’s my favorite flower? That is like picking a favorite child.  I can’t do that.

-Abbie, allthatmakesyou.com

Thank you all again and please add any blog links that you enjoy and that you think I should follow so that I can add them to my follow list.

I enjoyed this and you might too…  This is all a conversation, right?  http://broadsideblog.wordpress.com/2012/04/26/have-we-lost-the-art-of-conversation/

Child Is Missing. The Store is Eating Kids Again.

I have never “lost” a child when we are out and about.  I know it can happen easily and I also know we have been fortunate with three boys and twins to boot that it hasn’t, yet.  it is common knowledge, to parents of twins, that they only run in opposite directions.  If you ever see a set of toddler twins with their ankles tied together, don’t judge.  I knew our youngest wasn’t really, “MISSING!” 

I had taken all three boys to one of those club membership stores.   While my twin eight year-old boys, (at the time) always stay close to me and the cart our mischievous little brother, Peter, needed to sit in the child seat in the cart.  As always, Peter pleaded to “walk like a big boy”   At the end of the trip I decided we needed paper towels AND toilet paper.  Now if you know the size they are at the club stores you know there is now no room for Peter in the cart, and so his wish was granted.  

As the three boys were walking in front of the very erect cart towards the front of the store I looked over to see that Peter had taken off down the furniture aisle.  I kept walking as I saw him turning to the next aisle where I planned foiling his test on freedom.  When the older boys and I reached the next isle we realized Peter wasn’t there!

Avery and Mitchell became completely frantic and I went back again and began calling his name, LOUDLY.  No response from Peter.

I walked straight up to the front of the store, abandoning everything and the cart, and has the manager close off the exits.  All of the store employees are looking for him or at least made aware there was a missing child.  

Now, in our defense, we have never lost a child anywhere.  We have never even lost a twin when they were small.  Never.  I knew he wasn’t lost or kidnapped.  This is Peter after all.  The kid that walks around with his older brothers holding him by the back of his collar.  The kid that has two older brothers not letting him do anything because they don’t want him to get hurt or go missing or have any kind of fun.  

Within three minutes of being “lost” I heard an employee say, “I think I see him!” while looking way up at a couch on the second shelf of the furniture isle.  That little booger had a front row seat high on a shelf, (see picture to the left of him rock climbing) on a micro suede $599 sofa watching all of us run around looking for him…silent and smiling, (see picture above that sums up his personality.)

It took a long time to get Avery and Mitchell calmed down.  They were absolutely beside themselves.  Their sweet little hands were shaking, they were crying and they genuinely thought their baby brother was lost forever.  After paying for the cart of groceries and trying to make eye contact with all of the people who helped us get our happy (beaming with a million-watt grin was more like it) Peter back we finally pulled out of the parking lot. 

Mitchell, says in a completely exasperated tone,  says “That is exactly why we should not go there.” 

Avery answers back and says, “We told you we don’t like to go to that store Mom!” 

Mitchell replies, “It is sooo dangerous!” 

I respond with, “What are you guys talking about?  It is just a store!” 

Avery says, “You know!  All those kids that have gone missing in there!” 

Mitchell, “Yeah, you see them every time we leave.  All those kid’s pictures by the exits.  The sign says “MISSING!” 

And so it was every time we went there they held onto one another.  They were terrified.  They thought all of those children had gone missing in that VERY store.  Gone forever.  A child’s mind is a scary place. 😉

Teenagers? I just want to survive two, twelve year-olds.

We watched “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” with our boys last night.  Honestly,  the thought of watching it didn’t appeal to me as I don’t like sad movies.  We are going through some growing pains with our twin twelve year-olds and we thought it might be a good idea to make them realize WE MIGHT DIE AND YOU SHOULDN’T BE SO STINKING MOUTHY TO YOUR PARENTS!  Messed up, isn’t it?

People kept telling us how lucky we were to have all boys.  It was going to make the teenage years so much easier from a parenting perspective.  They said things like, “Boys are a handful when they are toddlers but the teenage years will be so much easier.”  No one said anything about what two, twelve year-olds might be like.  I can tell you what I have observed in our home.

If you are ALMOST a teenage boy in our house…

– You are getting man parts but you still have to pinch the end “of it” to talk like you have done since your diaper came off.

– No one else’s feelings matter if you don’t get what you want.  This includes your little brother who has caused all of the worlds injustices because he cannot reach the upper kitchen cabinets to help unload the dishwasher.

– You don’t know how to make jokes and the results are horrible, awkward moments for your mom when you tease a friend that you think they are checking out your mom or you think it’s funny to tell visiting family members about the time your mom had to bring you underwear to school because you “tooted” and you “released a hostage.”

– Your voice is getting as loud as a mans but you are still yelling at the frequency of a little kid.

– The entire world revolves you and your desires.  This means no one should ever have to clean up after themselves and your mom should be waiting by the stove with her oven mitt in one hand and a skillet in the other.

– You openly discuss what you have learned in health class and want to talk to your mom about sperm and “wet dreams” because you still tell your mom everything.  You scream at her things like, “I just want to know if this “SPERM” with the “FISH” that is going to shoot out of my pee-pee is a liquid or a solid?!”

– You get mad at your mom if she laughs or thinks anything is funny, (including the massive concern over the diameter of sperm.)

– Your parents are morons and you mumble under your breath that everyone is an “idiot” which doesn’t matter because your mom is one too and she wont notice.

– You have amnesia that you just got in trouble for calling people an “idiot” and act like you didn’t know your not supposed to.

– You scream that your parents are not letting you make your own decisions and you still sleep with an arsenal of stuffed animals.

I cannot wait until fall when our twins turn thirteen.  I hear it gets much easier.

Abbie, allthatmakesyou.com

Easter, Another Holiday That Tries to Turn Me Into a Liar

I cannot lie to my kids.  Let me clarify, I can lie to them about things like, I don’t know what the correct/anatomical word for “the place between where the babies exit out.”  You can find the explanation for that in my post entitled just that, no need to beat a dead horse. But when they ask me, “Is there really a Santa?” I freeze.  If I say yes will they believe me when I tell them something that is really pertinent.  Why the charade?  I sidestep the questions with quick questions back, “I don’t know”, “What do you think?” or “Have YOU seen Santa?  I haven’t but I have heard other (crazy/liars) people say they have.”  I found myself in the same predicament a few years ago when the Easter season came around and lets face it…

There aint never been an Easter Bunny costume that looks real!

My mother-in-law was in town and I decided it would be a cute idea to take the boys to the mall to visit the Easter Bunny.  On the way there I told them our intentions, (and mentioned a trip to the candy store afterwards) and was instantly bombarded with the usual Mitchell questions.  “Is the Easter Bunny real?”  “Is that a man in the Bunny suit?”

Not wanting to lie to them I usually skirt these questions and just try not to answer.  I will point out things on the side of the road or bring up something fun to do.  I tried these tactics and it didn’t work. 

Finally, Mitchell shouted, “Why won’t you just tell me…IS HE REAL?” 

Avery sat quietly listening for my response. 

I looked over at Jim’s Mom, took a deep breath and said, “Well, the spirit of the Easter Bunny is real, I guess.”  Then, no more questions.

We get to the mall and walk around for a while and we find the Bunny photo station.  There were no children in line and so Avery and Mitchell walked up to the unusually small Easter Bunny and stood right in front of him, (kind of like “The Shining Twins”). 

The Bunny, waiting for them to take a seat on his lap, sat completely still as Mitchell slowly bent his knees to lower himself and peered into the Bunny’s mouth.  

Mitchell proclaims, while pointing his finger in the rabbits mouth, “I SEE YOU!  I CAN SEE THE MAN INSIDE THE BUNNY COSTUME!  I TOLD YOU THE EASTER BUNNY ISN’T REAL!” 

Now Mitchell is looking over at me while I am standing next to them on the other side of the “velvet line ropes”.  He is looking at me, the Easter Bunny has his oversized head twisted to the side looking at me, the Easter Bunny’s personal photographer is looking at me and I am at a loss of words.  Suddenly, Avery whacks Mitchell in the arm and he exclaimed, as he too is doing the knee bend peering into the rabbits mouth move, “MITCHELL HE IS REAL, THAT IS THE “SPIRIT” OF THE EASTER BUNNY IN THERE!!!”  And that was that. 

 The Bunny nodded an emphatic yes with his thumb up.  He then held up a rolled up coloring book for them he had in a basket by his feet and the boys said, “THANKS SO MUCH!” and were off. 

Happy Easter everyone.  May the SPIRIT of the season be with you!

-Abbie, All that makes you…

Another holiday that tries to turn me into a liar…

I cannot lie to my kids.  Let me clarify, I can lie to them about things like, I don’t know what the correct/anatomical word for “the place between where the babies exit out.”  You can find the explanation for that in my post entitled just that, no need to beat a dead horse. But when they ask me, “Is there really a Santa?” I freeze.  If I say yes will they believe me when I tell them something that is really pertinent.  Why the charade?  I sidestep the questions with quick questions back, “I don’t know”, “What do you think?” or “Have YOU seen Santa?  I haven’t but I have heard other (crazy/liars) people say they have.”  I found myself in the same predicament a few years ago when the Easter season came around and lets face it…

There aint never been an Easter Bunny costume that looks real!

My mother-in-law was in town and I decided it would be a cute idea to take the boys to the mall to visit the Easter Bunny.  On the way there I told them our intentions, (and mentioned a trip to the candy store afterwards) and was instantly bombarded with the usual Mitchell questions.  “Is the Easter Bunny real?”  “Is that a man in the Bunny suit?”

Not wanting to lie to them I usually skirt these questions and just try not to answer.  I will point out things on the side of the road or bring up something fun to do.  I tried these tactics and it didn’t work. 

Finally, Mitchell shouted, “Why won’t you just tell me…IS HE REAL?” 

Avery sat quietly listening for my response. 

I looked over at Jim’s Mom, took a deep breath and said, “Well, the spirit of the Easter Bunny is real, I guess.”  Then, no more questions.

We get to the mall and walk around for a while and we find the Bunny photo station.  There were no children in line and so Avery and Mitchell walked up to the unusually small Easter Bunny and stood right in front of him, (kind of like “The Shining Twins”). 

The Bunny, waiting for them to take a seat on his lap, sat completely still as Mitchell slowly bent his knees to lower himself and peered into the Bunny’s mouth.  

Mitchell proclaims, while pointing his finger in the rabbits mouth, “I SEE YOU!  I CAN SEE THE MAN INSIDE THE BUNNY COSTUME!  I TOLD YOU THE EASTER BUNNY ISN’T REAL!” 

Now Mitchell is looking over at me while I am standing next to them on the other side of the “velvet line ropes”.  He is looking at me, the Easter Bunny has his oversized head twisted to the side looking at me, the Easter Bunny’s personal photographer is looking at me and I am at a loss of words.  Suddenly, Avery whacks Mitchell in the arm and he exclaimed, as he too is doing the knee bend peering into the rabbits mouth move, “MITCHELL HE IS REAL, THAT IS THE “SPIRIT” OF THE EASTER BUNNY IN THERE!!!”  And that was that. 

 The Bunny nodded an emphatic yes with his thumb up.  He then held up a rolled up coloring book for them he had in a basket by his feet and the boys said, “THANKS SO MUCH!” and were off. 

Happy Easter everyone.  May the SPIRIT of the season be with you!

-Abbie, All that makes you…