She Knows I Am Laughing With Her

Lilly would like people to stop telling me how cute she looks in bows.

She would also like me to stop matching her bows to her pink (rat-like) skin tone.

She also would like someone to drop a baby daughter off for me to torture decorate raise.

She is happy I didn’t give her this old haircut.  No one loved her for two whole months.

But I did do this.  

Come on.  It is too funny!  I don’t even paint my own nails.

She loves attention.

She begs to get her teeth brushed.

The toothpaste is chicken flavored and she is only allowed to eat her dog food.

She might think teeth brushing is a treat.

Abbie Gale

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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

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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

 

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Creek Tips

 

I love it when I come across something my boys have done that I didn’t know about.

Here is a video our Peter shot at one of his special critter catching locations.

The walk to the creek the time prior revealed a snake.  It looks like he went back with our big black rubber snake to leave out in hopes it would scare away any snakes that were venomous, while he could look for newts.

Thought you might enjoys…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tv8uMqmdYGs&feature=youtu.be

My story, just yesterday, about same black snake and one of its evil doings.

How To Tell Your Lawn Guy You Are Very Sorry

-Abbie, allthatmakesyou.com

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How To Tell Your Lawn Guy You’re Very Sorry

I was pulling out of my driveway yesterday when I saw one of our yard guys running up the hill from the backyard.  He was screaming and waving his arms for my attention.

I stopped and rolled down my window.  This man was a mess.  He was out of breath and talking fast and I am nearly certain I could see his heart beating through his shirt.

He came running up at me like he was getting away from a gunman.

“SNAKE!!!!”  He was yelling it in the voice and mannerism of a fourteen-year-old girl.

I quickly replied, “Oh, no…no, no…”

He interrupted me and said, “It’s a big one! Ahhhhhh!!!  It’s the biggest snake I have ever seen!”  He is still running at me.

I cannot help it.  I am smiling and pulling my eyebrows down, (the best you can with a wee-bit of Botox) but my nostrils flaring was giving my laughter away.

I begin again, “Noooo!  No. No.  Was it by the deck?  That’s not…”

He now feels like he has gotten away from the big bad snake and is running in front of my suburban across my driveway with a high step as if he had just made a touchdown.

He runs over to my side of the car and yells, “It’s out back!  It’s the biggest, (he has his arms stretched out as far as they will go) snake I have ever seen!”

I tell him that it isn’t real and that my kids leave it around to scare each other and us and he wasn’t the intended victim person, (but anyone will do.)

He threw himself on his back and rolled around screaming and laughing.

I continued into the road smiling again wondering how long before he realized he was rolling around where our dog does her “business.”

Can you send your lawn guy flowers?

I think he has had a bad day.

-Abbie, allthatmakesyou.com

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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???

JUST THE 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.  

Sunday Dinner Cancelled, Bring Vodka and Mop

“Sunday family dinner is cancelled.  Bring vodka and mop.”

This was a particularly unbelievable story that began with an innocent shopping trip to the grocery store to make the perfect Sunday family dinner.

I was dressed in a sundress and floating about my kitchen putting away the groceries and planning the meal in my head.

The kids were outside playing with their friends.

Jim was outside golfing with friends.

All was right in the world.

Then I dropped a can of whipped cream.

It just bounced and as I bent over to pick it up it shot diagonally like a rocket.

So I twisted myself and tried to catch it on the bounce.

Wait that isn’t a bounce!

HOLY CRAP BAGS…IT IS SPRAYING UP MY DRESS AND ALL OVER?

It is shooting all over my kitchen like a Jimmy Neutron jet pack and I am on a three-second delay trying to choose which random direction the can of whip cream will take after the next interaction with any hard surface.

It is a micro fine spray, and it is making its way around my kitchen like a naked picture of a teacher in High School.

I can’t form words as I shuffle around making a sound like, “ahhhhh–ooah-oooooh-eeehh-OOOOHHH!!!!”

I cannot catch the stupid thing.  It finally spins across the wood floors as it runs out of jet fuel.

I look around and I am amazed that all of that fit in that little can.

It was all over the floor and the cabinets and up the walls about 8 feet.  We have dark cabinets with lots of crevices.  It was sprayed up into things at a funny angle.  Up and into things like my dress and under my pony tail.  That picture is of only half of the kitchen.  I may have helped it travel by kicking it on accident.

Whip cream hates me and I hate whip cream now.

Whip cream is sticky and creamy and I am fairly certain was developed by the same terrorists as the “automatic candy dispenser” or “Christine” as I like to call it.

I sent my husband Jim and the boys a text message…

“Sunday family dinner cancelled in lieu of exploding can of whipped cream, think Jimmy Neutron jetpack style.”

I sent my girlfriends a different text…

“Sunday Dinner Cancelled, Bring Vodka and Mop”

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

Jimmy Neutron Photo from this website

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Revenge on a Parent by Way of Birthday Gift for Kid

If you give my son a gift like this on his birthday he will think you are a…

ROCK STAR PARENT!

I will be asking myself what the heck I ever did to you to deserve you giving my son this “evil doing” machine.

Don’t make me mad, or else I will be buying one for your kid this Christmas!

Link to Buy Terrorist Candy Machine Perfect for the Kid Who Has Parents You Hate

Don’t be fooled.  It just looks all nice and fun.  

It is not.

Look at the speed in which it shows the candy coming out.

Now picture three little boys gathered around and their (sarcastically said) “impeccable timing” and you can just imagine the “hit rate“for the CRACK candy making it into closed hands.

I keep picking the stinkin’ thing up to put it away (like off kitchen table or front porch or couch…) and the stupid thing shoots hard candy across the room as I’m holding it and as I try to turn it off I cause the motion sensors to shoot more!

It was just sitting on my kitchen counter, all alone and childless.  It was looking sad without having a child gazing upon it smiling.

It needed to fulfill its destiny.

It needed to make cavities, jack children up on sugar, and shoot sticky things across my floor to attract bugs.

I think “it” was just looking for an excuse to mess with me.

All it took was some sunshine hitting the motion sensor to invite me to one of its “candy parties.”

It just began spewing jelly beans.

They were skipping across the countertops like Mexican jumping beans and then hitting the hard floor and rolling and bouncing everywhere.

I am now cursing “It” and my “Rock Star Parent” friends that bought it.

(remind me to never move my jaw to the side when getting picture taken again)

It was all “Christine” the car from that scary movie excpet it is a possessed candy dish.

This is what the terrorists are making now to mess with us.

It is a subtle plot.  They have gotten a bit passive aggressive.

I told my kids the candy dispenser has been recalled for impregnating candy with lead.

I also told them parents have been advised to throw it away and have children scrub their  mouths with toothpaste for ten straight minutes.

I also have to scrub my mouth for the cuss words I managed to string together.

If you are a dentist and want that extra week at Martha’s Vineyard I would advise sending these to every family with young children that are patients of yours.

What is the worst gift someone has given one of your kids?

Abbie

All that makes you…

allthatmakesyou.com

You may also enjoy this story I wrote.

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

It was featured here on BlogHer

You may also enjoy this story I wrote.

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

It was featured on BlogHer

If you really like then hit the “Follow” button to come along for the ride!

🙂

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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.

allthatmakesyou.com

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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.

Proof!

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

allthatmakesyou.com