I Moved! Did You Know I MOVED?

Hello, I moved!

Come on over to the new place.

Abducted by Aliens.

At least that is how moving to my own site feels.

I no speak the language.
allthatmakesyou.com moved to self hosted

I would have taken you with me but

WordPress wouldn’t let me.  

If you were following me on WordPress as a WordPress follower you have to

head on over to my new site to continue

to read my stories.

I have a place for you to

subscribe by email


or even follow me on Facebook.

Head on over to my new place.


I am still unpacking and decorating.

Stupid things keep happening to me…

I keep giving out my opinions…

The dog keeps sneak-attack-cuddling on people…

Our boys are still smuggling a small zoo in our home…

Oh, and we now have a cricket farm in the basement to feed EVERYTHING…

The boys tell me if the Mayan’s are right WE can eat the crickets too! (not happening)

Just in case the Mayans are right I am having my 40th birthday party on 12/21/2012…

Because I am just that STUPID LUCKY to turn 40 on “The End of the World.”

If you don’t follow me over at


then you will never know if I ever reach the unobtainable goal

of a vacation stay to the nut house.

If it is really you, Bethenny Frankel reading this and you have FINALLY found me please just click this link and I will tell you where to send all the Skinny Girl Cocktails, Smoothers n’ Shapers, and all the other products to help me and my homies stay


(just in case the Mayans are wrong.)

Oh, and you are invited to my party!

Not just Bethenny, but all of you!

Ok, I might mean in spirit because I don’t know how you behave when you are at a party and they are serving booze.  Ok, fine because I don’t want you to take any pictures of me and behaving badly and then share them with all our internet peeps.

I think December 22 we are all going to be wishing the Mayans were right.

Anyone want to send about 100 hangover cures as party gifts?

Bethenny, are you making that yet?

Skinny Girl Hair of the Dog Hangover Cure!

You have EXACTLY

etbox</a>! Not seeing a widget? (<a href=”http://support.widgetbox.com/”>More info</a>)</noscript>

Bethenny Frankel brings SkinnyGirl Margaritas ...

Bethenny Frankel brings SkinnyGirl Margaritas to Dallas (Photo credit: CynthiaSmoot)

Epic Embarrassing Night, Again, Enjoy

Yet another awesome moment for me as I love to provide entertainment for my friends in real time and then share them with my friends online.

Last night we went to a dinner party at our club, but really they sat tables up around the pool and tennis courts. It was a beautiful night. Perfect weather, they had live music and ice sculptures and shrimp cocktail, prime rib and even nachos.

You know that based on what I have said I must be beginning another story that includes an awkward Abbie moment. You so wont be disappointed. I went to this shindig knowing I was dressed up and in close proximity to water. This is why I walked ten feet away from the side of any pool. I know I have a mark on my head with these men. Any one of them would gain tremendous satisfaction of being the guy who tossed Abbie into the pool with her giant orange patent leather espadrille, wedge, platform shoes.

Here is the real deal. I can barely swim. I grew up with a 12 foot deep pool in my backyard and I still sink. I would not be able to swim at all with these giant wrap around and buckle orange cones around my ankles, they really are cute.

Here is my sweet niece in my orange summer shoes. She liked them enough she wanted her picture taken in them. We had so much fun playing with clothes when she came this summer.

Now mix in the fact that I have an undiscovered genetic disorder that makes me gasp for air when I am underwater and it would have been a trifecta of embarrassment when I sank to the bottom of the pool while holding my nose. There would be clapping and cheering while no one noticed I drowned.

They all “owe me one” for various stunts I have done to them, (read about me tipping over their canoes during river trip last month) and I know I have it coming but it cannot be in a pool during dinner and an ambulance call. That would be really embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as when I tackled one of the husbands on the golf course and put him in a headlock, in front of his wife and other men, (I am 5′ 3″) because he ran off with my golf cart key. I have told you, I am Monica Geller.

Here I am taking my picture with my teams winning score in golf.

There are probably more people that would like to toss me in that pool.

I didn’t even realize how easily I could outdo my pool fear in my head, and all alone while just standing. But I did.

Jim asked me to walk up into the tennis pavilion to take a look and help him pick out some golf shoes. The tennis pavilion is like a raised square gazebo. The golf shop set up a little display and the men were getting their party loot or swag.

I wasn’t really interested and he was trying on shoes and not listening to me when I said to pick out the cool looking ones. He was trying on the ones that looked like ever other pair he wears.

I am standing in the middle off all these tables with my super cute orange giant shoes that I knew ROCKED when one of our friends looked at them and said, “No one told me there would be hookers here.” I told him he was jealous and that if he was nice I would let him borrow them as I am sure he wears the same size as me.

Karma, Karma, Karma. As I am standing there and looking so sassy and smart in my hooker sandals I am holding a vodka-cranberry that I have not yet drank and I have my legs crossed at my ankles. Suddenly! an earthquake shook the tennis pavilion and a drunk golfer shoulder checked me.

OK, none of that happened. Go back to legs crossed at ankles. Giant platform heels, little girl (me) rocking ankle because she is bored looking at golf shoes that all look-alike because her husband is making her. Karma. My one ankle rolls but because my legs are crossed it sends my other leg off-center. I am holding my first FULL cup with ice and cocktail so I am concentrating on not spilling. As I am trying to correct my shift in center I yell, “oooohhh! OOO!” and then “AAAAHHHHHH” then you hear WAAAHHBBUMMPP!!! when my feet flew up higher that my waist and I land on my right tush SO HARD I roll up to my shoulder. There is cocktail and ice that rained down like ticker-tape to all four corners of the tennis shop turned golf store. I am laying on the ice and drink and in my white skirt with legs in the air and they are, of course, finally uncrossed. I look around and I have a circle of men around me looking down. One of them announced “Jim, at least she is wearing underwear tonight!”

I know Jim. His face tells me his instinct is to run like he doesn’t know me. It is like the time we were facing a skunk and he pushed me forward and ran in the house. But he didn’t, he helped pull my embarrassed butt up. He was impressed with how NOT graceful my Olympic falling moment was. I think that gets you more points in the falling Olympics. I am a gold winner!!!

I have a sore right hip today. I have ANOTHER “stupid Abbie story” and I have to go figure out what I did to pi$$ off Karma and make it right.

Really though I am so happy I didn’t get tossed in the pool, white skirt and pink underwear.

Have you had an epic fall? This one may tie with my bowling alley fall. I love telling that story! Wearing Other People’s Ugly Shoes. Ok, Wearing Other Peoples Ugly Shoes is funnier. Have you read both and which do you think is funnier?

Abbie Gale, allthatmakesyou.com

Follow us for…

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

Awkward! What do I do Now?

What do I do?

What do I do when I look on my phone and see I have a message.

I open the message.

It reads, “It took me forever to get the courage up to send this.”

There is a picture attached.

I open the picture and its a picture of boobies!

Mom boobies, like mine. I mean, they are NOT mine but they are by no means “dirty picture boobies.” They might be a picture for a husband out-of-town and it could be as innocent as “holy cow look at my tan lines” photo. It could be a “before” photo, as in before a little touch up with a plastic surgeon.

I don’t know why someone takes a picture of themselves naked. I don’t care if you do.

This does not change the fact that I just got a naked topless picture of a mom I know from my boys school.

A pair of boobies staring at me that I find myself studying and concluding that those are indeed her boobies.

Holy-Mother-of-God. What do I do?

Do I reply?

I get butt called and butt texted all the time. This is a byproduct of having a name that starts with “ABB”

I am a librarians dream.

Once she realizes she accidentally “sexted” me will she kill herself before school starts because she has to see me everyday.

I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. I have all sorts of wacky pictures on my phone. I don’t have MY boobies but I have other people’s boobies. I have pics of toilet stalls, dead mice in pool basket, husband spooning dog thinking its me…

Should I send her a naked photo of some of my anatomy so we are even? No harm, no foul.

Do I just send her a, Thank you?”

Do I just send her a, “Thank you but I like boys?”

Do I call the son and tell him, “Shame on you!”

Do I forward it to her husband and tell him I think if was intended for him?

These are the kind of pictures I send my husband. I sent this picture a couple of weeks ago. I wanted this puppy. I lost all sense of reason. I went to the mall to buy Chinese soup spoons and I am trying to leave with a Havanese puppy? Maybe he would have said yes if I showed him my boobies.

Do I play stupid and let it ride and always wonder if she quit speaking to me because of it?

After attending BlogHer last week and wondering where I fit into this whole “webosphere” God sent me a clear sign where I belong. I must keep blogging and telling these stories. He sent me Mrs ______ boobie picture so I could make you laugh.

I think God wants me to continue on.

What do you think I should do and do you have a story like this?


-Abbie, allthatmakesyou.com


Follow us for…

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

Our Most Embarrassing School Art, To Date Anyway

I am running a few of my favorite stories this week.  I will be back soon with new stories, that is if I don’t end up in jail in NYC.  My boys said they won’t miss me much when I am gone since I make them unload the dishwasher.  I reminded them that I wash and load the dishes and so they will have to load as well while I am away.  

Anyone willing to bail my naked ass out of jail?  I know I will be naked because with two drinks and I am drunk and three…NAKED and jail seems like the logical progression for four.  I hear the girls at BlogHer like to party at the conferences, crap.  

Your dad is a BONE doctor!  How can you NOT know there is NOT a bone in it?

I don’t know.  They are sweet.  They are cute boys.  They win classroom awards like, “Most Conscientious”.  These are the only reasons I can think of that the teachers don’t call me when my boys do a project in school and they...just look at the picture.

There are reasons I am not a PTO mom, or a scissor mom, (the ones that come to school to cut things out).  The reasons are because my kids think its funny to make a pasta skeleton and put macaroni testicles and rotinini pee-pee and spaghetti BONE?  I asked what the spaghetti was and he said, “That’s the bone in the pee-pee“.

I know I clearly have more to worry about, judging from this picture, but….




I take a few deep breaths.  I put it into perspective.  There are three types of pasta that makes up the noodle guys junk (oh and we know it’s a noodle GUY, right)  but the dude has no feet.

For all of you with girls I want to remind you that little boys are different.  For little boys, that area is a toy that stays with you.  To quote one of my kids when they were three, “When can I get one of these BALLS out so I can see what they look like?”  Your daughter is putting shoes on her Barbie’s feet right now and I have an anatomically (in)correct foot-less pasta dude on my fridge.

-Abbie, All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry, and hopefully cry laughing.


Get Some Pants On

I may not ever understand my three sons.

Get your pants on!

Better Tell The Neighbors We’re Missing Razor and Feminine Product

We are shuffling the kids around to new bedrooms.

This means a new bathroom for our Peter who just turned eight.

He has never had his own bathroom and has taken to having baths in the middle of the day in “his” bathroom.

He keeps his bathrobe on the hook behind the door.  This is very cute.

He is like a little Hugh Heffner except that he wears a fleece plaid Calvin Klein robe.

He is now using, what was, the guest bath.  We get a lot of family and friends that come to visit us.  I like them to feel at home.  I put candy and snacks in a basket in their room so they don’t have to travel to the kitchen if they have a craving.  I keep bottled water for them in the mini-fridge and extra toothbrushes and toiletries in case they forgot something in the bathroom.

I have been so wrapped up in reorganizing the new closets I forgot to move the “guest supplies” out of Peter’s new bathroom and into the new guest bathroom, in the basement.

I wandered into Peter’s new bathroom and it looks like he has been exploring his new space.

Note the shower-cap opened and used, the Estee Lauder face wash, the empty toothbrush box and he still opened a “Whisp.”  I am certain he never brushed his teeth with either.

A disposable razor MISSING THE RAZOR HEAD???!!!

Then I look over to the other side of the sink and I see a tampon wrapper???


For the record, I have all boys and not one man in my house has ever seen a feminine product.  Hidden.  No boxes on the back of the toilet.  None on the counters.  Hidden.

He has NO IDEA what that would have been about.

I looked everywhere.  No razor-blade and no tampon.

I send the pictures to all my neighbors.  I tell them if they find a razor and a tampon…do not be alarmed.  

One of the husbands on our street sent me a text back and announced he is blocking me.  Something about interrupting his golf game at Pinehurst #2.

I told him that was fine if he blocked me.  When his wife comes back from Sweden and he can’t explain the tampon and razor blade on his swingset I will be laughing.  Serves him right to not be able to sleep wondering what kind of freaks used their play set while they were visiting Ikea-Land and Golf-Heaven.  Go ahead, block me.

I am pretty sure another neighbor husband blocked me a couple weeks ago when I asked him for a couple dead bodies for two hours to foil a friends home inspection so she couldn’t move.  He has access, don’t ask.  It was a joke, (but I would have totally put them in the crawl space if he saw the greater good.)

You are far better knowing what I am up to if you live on my street than not.  

My Boys Put Me on a Dating Website? I’m Married!

Hmmmm…I see a bunch of Match.com emails.

I dismiss thinking it is spam.

Then I see I have people liking me.

Shut the front door!  Seriously?

Do I open and risk it being a virus or do I risk finding out I am SOMEHOW on Match.com?

I open.

They are welcoming me and show me the 18 WOMEN THAT ARE INTERESTED IN ME! I am a MAN who is interested in 18-27 year olds???

My zip code is listed and these are LOCAL WOMEN!!!


These kids must have used my computer and created an account by clicking a Match.com ad?!!!!

Find girls? Why sure if I am a little boy! I will click you and log onto your website via my mom’s accounts because she doesn’t have passwords on HER computer.

I do now AND what bothers me most?

They don’t know my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!

You may also enjoy this story…

Said from a mexican restaurant men’s bathroom, “What did we ever do to you mom?!”

Abbie and I love sharing with you, “All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing.”   allthatmakesyou.com

How to Stifle Education with Cocktails and Other Threats

I have a husband, Jim.  A very, very smart husband. How smart you ask?

Not too smart, he married me!

I remind him of the above mentioned fact if he complains about things I might do.

I tell him he…

– Should just find my annoying habits endearing, it would be easier for him AND me since I am getting too old to change for the better.

– Married me AND that means he married my taste and that means no decorator but he may hire a housekeeper, (so that I have more time to decorate.)

– Needs to remember that he married me knowing that whatever has made him mad is also probably one of the reasons he wanted to marry me.

The list goes on and evolves so as to satisfy my ever-changing needs.

Jim and I were on our way this week to his latest graduation.  He went back for additional training a year ago.  He just completed a fellowship in musculoskeletal imaging.  We debated not even going to the ceremony.

I told him we had to.  I wanted to be sure that there would be no excuse for any FUTURE graduations such as, “I feel unfulfilled missing my 43 graduation ceremony.  I need to go back to school, for more training or redirect my career path” crap.

I threw on a skirt and a shirt and a pair of heels that were chewed up from another night of actually having fun in them.

The last graduation I bought a new gown, shoes, jewelry, flew in Jim’s mom and bought her all the same.  We stopped to buy flowers for his program director.  We hired a sitter.  It was a night out at the “fancy” country club all kelly green, pink and oriental vases.

We pulled out of our driveway this week shouting out the window to the kids to make themselves a burrito.  We were heading to the same pink and green country club.  We were both far less enthusiastic.

I sat in the front seat looking for some sunblock to slap on my dry knees and announced, “I am getting tanked tonight.”

I liked saying it just to force the mental image of seventy-five academic physicians, residents, fellows and their spouses eating baked Alaska while I am falling down drunk.

Jim says, “Really?  You are planning this ahead of time?”

I had and I was.

Me, “Yes.  It is the only way I can be sure you won’t go back for more training.  It will have to be epic.”

Jim, “Awesome.”

I knew he wasn’t doubting that I was actually thinking about this.

Here is what really happened.

I may have sat at a table for ten and been one of only two women and still somehow managed to bring up “Fifty Shades of Grey.”  I then tried guessing which of the men looked tired enough to deem that their wives were reading it or had recently read it.  This is no small feat considering most radiologists look tired from lack of sunlight and interaction with humans, I may have also mentioned this.

I may have told my husband’s subspecialty department director that his nickname for Jim sucked, (R.J. for “Research Jim”) and that it should be “Antwone” and then went on to tell him why he should call him that.

The program director somehow managed to bring up my full first and last name in her speech and included an “Abbie quote” with full body impersonation from six years ago in this very same room and at the very same graduation ceremony.  She then asked where I was in the room and I had the full attention of all of the docs and their “others.”

This is fantastic!  I have only had half a drink and I am “infamous.”  I don’t need to keep drinking!  Poor Jim just looks at me while I am smiling back at him.

I didn’t think it was that memorable but I guess shouting out, “Yayyy BABY!  WE GOT FURNITURE!” when the program presents your husband with one of those “collegiate” chairs with his name on a plaque with “Chief Resident” may have been the most exciting thing other than not having baked Alaska for the, (what is now my fifth) graduation dinner desert.

(Pretend there is a picture here from this weeks graduation.  See, I told you we were less than enthusiastic.  I don’t even have a picture!  I have photos of EVERYTHING including my kids funny poops.  Kidding, but I do have one and if your lucky I will share it with you one day.)

I only told one other person my goal of total inebriation with the end result being embarrassing Jim from any future higher education aspirations.  I looked over at her and said, “Well I guess I can just rest on my laurels and not have a hangover tomorrow.”

You know what though?

I reminded myself that for all the reasons that I tell Jim he should accept me I realized I have to accept Jim.  I love him because he loves learning.  I love him because when we were eighteen and at his high school graduation party his aunt asked him what he was going to do with is life and he said, “I am going to be a doctor.”

I may have spit Coke out of my nose when he said this and I may have said, “I think maybe you should join the military or study computers” and he still held firm that was what he wanted to do.

Who knew you never really needed to show up to high school to become valedictorian of your medical school class, or chief resident, or mammography doc, or musculoskeletal imaging sub-specialist.

Maybe that is really why I married Jim.  


– I find his tenacity endearing.

– He makes me happy to be his wife when he looks at me proudly when an esteemed doctor does a full body impersonation of me at the podium at HIS graduation.

– I love him because he knows I would never really get drunk on his special night but he will sit and listen to my master plan to, just to entertain me.

Thanks for letting me share with you all that makes me,

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


Why Summer Vacations are Longer for Mother’s of Boys…

Why summer vacations are longer for the mothers of boys…

Little boys find it amusing to go “number 2” and leave it for their brothers to find.

They call it “leaving a deposit?”

What makes this funnier to little boys…

To write the persons name it is intended to be found by on the toilet seat

In permanent maker.

If you have heard screaming coming from my house “am I gonna die?” last night that was the electric cobalt blue model paint all over the new floor in the basement golf cart garage/workshop.

If you heard screaming this morning it was the toilet seat in the new basement bathroom.

I’m running away (again) to work at one of those Caribbean resorts that doesn’t allow children in.

I’ve been preparing them. I taught them to make their favorite meal, linguini with clams, because they will get sick of Jim’ eggs.

This is within 12 hours of each other with a full nights sleep in the middle. Upon texting Jim the antics he replied that one of his coworkers lost a baby to SIDS.

I can live in our colorful graffiti house.

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


This Stuff Only Happens To Me!

Have you ever felt like your kids school’s teachers and staff think you are disheveled, bonkers or possibly a stripper?  Well, after the story I am about to tell you you will realize that my kids principal and school counselor probably think I am all three.

The night before the first day of school and because this was our first year of being car riders and to two schools no less, I cleaned out the Suburban as the teachers will get a first hand look inside at the schools drop off and pick up lines.

I wouldn’t want them to see how we REALLY live.

Knowing I will finally have time to do some decorating while they are off learning I pile grocery bags of fabric that I have in my house, pieces of granite we have, cabinet door fronts we have had built…ok piles of examples of colors and pillows and wood…all over my front seat to make it easy to grab what I need and ponder while in the lines at school.  The plan is to sneak off to the fabric stores while I’m kid free. I’m thinking I’m so well prepared and getting something done while sitting.  It was good to think so highly of myself for A DAY…

On the first day of school I’m picking up at the elementary school and the principal is out walking the car line.  Keep in mind I’m still gun-shy of all teachers and principals after my less than exemplary behavior as a child.  

And here she comes to talk to me, while I’m in the car, and at my window and not at one of the windows where the car is clean…

she comes to the “a homeless person lives in this car” window.  

As I’m shrinking in my seat as she asks why I don’t have “the tag” with my child’s name and school hanging from my rear view mirror. I say (remember my kids were always bus riders), “I don’t have one.”

She is making the poop face, (like all principals do;) at my pile of house samples all over the front of my car that looks like I’m a hoarder.  I then say, “Where do we get them?”

She says, “At the open house. Did his teacher not give you one?”

Ok, here’s where I wish I could lie, I say, “We didn’t go to open house.” I am now making the poop face.

We go to all open houses. We’ve never missed one. For the love of God my first grader begged not to go and I have been to them there five years in a row. We know the teacher and made a decision to skip this one and I walked him in on the morning of the first day. Anyway, she continues with her nose scrunched up and handwrites his name on a tag (something tells me she wanted them all computer printed).

I spend the next several days saying to myself, I wish I had fewer “New Adventures of the Old Christine” moments…They only get better because that next Monday morning at the car rider drop off line the school counselor opens the door for Peter. This is the same clean backseat from a few from a few days ago.

Except that the entire time I’m saying goodbye to Peter and good morning to the counselor she is staring at the backseat floor right behind me, you know the spot the driver cannot see.  She too is making the teacher “poop face”.  

At the next stop sign I take off my seat belt and look around to find my husbands bright red gym bag stuffed so full it cannot be zipped up and a pile of black hair sticking out all over the floor of the Suburban. It is a black wig that we all know my husband wore on stage last Saturday night, with our friends at a Hospice fundraiser, dressed up as Kiss…to raise money and make people laugh. It now looks like a decapitated head in my backseat shoved in a gym bag or some kind of weird kinky thing or I can’t think of a reason that isn’t during Halloween week to have a long black wig in a duffel bag at the feet of your first grader. Sometimes I feel like I am Old Christine or Elaine from Seinfeld.

– Abbie, All that makes you smile, laugh, think, love, cry or cry laughing!