Funny Bits With The Girl

The girl is often full of herself, and she’s had quite a few funny moments over the past week. Here are a few of them:

Baby Girl told me about playing with another little girl at recess. Baby Girl is 41 inches tall and this little girl, who is just a year older, is almost five feet tall. I was shocked to learn she is six! Anyway, they play family together. I asked BG about their roles, since I know she hates getting stuck as the baby, which is what usually happens.

“My friend is the mommy, and I am the pet lion,” she told me.

I love everything about that.


I was getting something out of LM’s closet and was kneeling over when his old infant car seat fell out of the top and hit me base-first on the head. I yelled and Baby Girl asked what was wrong. I told her, and her response was less than sympathetic.

“You’ll be fine.”

She sounds like a seasoned mom.


BG and LM probably fight more than they get along, but they do have their super sweet moments. LM was helping her put together a LEGO set her grandma gave her and told BG how much he loved her. Baby Girl said she loved him, too.

“I love you more than nothing.”

She has a way with words, huh?


When I called for BG to come into the living room and get ready, she didn’t answer and let her magnadoodle answer for her:

I love that she put an exclamation.

Happy Tuesday!

Don’t. Touch. My. Head. Pillow.

How many of y’all have head pillows?

And how many of y’all are like “WTF is a head pillow?”

My husband was confused the first time he heard me mention a head pillow. We had just moved in together and were getting adjusted to each other. The sleeping together part wasn’t fun, honestly. I liked my space and couldn’t sleep all that well with someone else in the bed — sleeping with him is like sleeping with a radiator, he took up space, and he snored.

The confusion came when I snatched a pillow out from under his head after he went to sleep. I was doing schoolwork late and he was asleep when I went to lay down. And what did I see when I got in bed? The bastard had taken one of my pillows. Specifically, my head pillow.

You see, I require at least four pillows to sleep. I need a base pillow, and that pillow can be soft or firm or whatever. Doesn’t matter, because it’s just the base, and its only purpose is to elevate me. And then I need my sleeping pillow, which needs to be able to be folded in half when I’m sick and need a little extra elevation so I can breathe better. Next, I need my holding pillow. You could call this the grown up version of a stuffed animal. Last, I must have my head pillow. It is a pillow that is old as fuck and should’ve been thrown out years ago, so it’s soft and squishy and has no form. It goes over my head to block out light, noise, and to add some weight, which I like for whatever reason.

Ideally, I would have two more pillows, but depending on what my husband takes, I can’t always make this work. First, I would have the leg pillow that goes under my legs and second, I would have a barrier pillow that I put between me and my husband or kids, whoever is sleeping near me. 

So, when I saw my head pillow under his head, I wasn’t very pleased. How was I supposed to go to sleep when this bastard had my head pillow under his head? I tried to ease the pillow out from under his head at first, but his giant cantaloupe head made that impossible, so I tried to do the sheet pull. You know, where people pull sheets out from under food and plates and stuff on a table. It didn’t go all that smoothly, so he woke up.

He groaned. “What are you doing?”

“You had my head pillow,” I hissed.

“Your what?”

“My head pillow. Get your own pillow, it’s on the floor next to your side.”

He did as instructed and went back to sleep. The next morning, he fussed over me snatching a pillow out from under his head.

“I brought my pillows into this apartment,” I said. “So they’re mine. I don’t share pillows. Especially my head pillow.” I don’t care how petty it made me sound. I frequently had insomnia, so a good night’s sleep didn’t happen often. And I sure as hell didn’t have a good chance of sleeping in less than optimal conditions.

He asked what a head pillow was, so I explained, and he still acted confused and said he had never heard of such a thing. I told him it didn’t matter if he had never heard of it as long as he didn’t touch my pillow again.

I had my first head pillow for 15 years. I don’t know how old the pillow was when I first got it from my grandma’s house, but it was perfect. When I was 30 and struggling with sinus issues, my doctor suggested replacing my pillows every six months. It’s possible that pillow may have contributed to my issues.

And then BG came along and threw up on my pillow. I couldn’t get it properly cleaned, so I had to throw it away. It was a sad day. I found another head pillow, though. And while it wasn’t perfect, it worked well enough. Unfortunately, she threw up on that one, too. And then another. (Reflux issues. I eventually learned to cover our pillows with beach towels when she came in.)

I finally settled into a new head pillow, but then BG stole it out of my room and started putting it on her head. She wanted a head pillow, too, and cried when I tried to take it back, so I let her keep it. Little Man also decided he wanted a head pillow and tried to take another of my pillows that was squishy enough, but I put my foot down and said no. He’s a mouthy little tween and less likely to tug on my heartstrings than BG. I got another pillow for him, but he’s still eyeing my head pillow.

Last night, my husband messed up. I came to bed and found my head pillow under his head again. He wasn’t asleep, but I was tired and cranky from the lack of sleep, so I roughly jerked it out from under his head.

“Don’t. Touch. My. Head. Pillow.”

He laughed and laughed. I told him if he touched it again, I’d smother him with it before I tried to go to sleep, which made him laugh even harder.

If y’all don’t have head pillows, what sleep habits do you have that others think are weird?

That Time I Thought I Was Going To Jail

This is a repost from over 4.5 years ago — with some light edits — so this will probably be new to most of you. A post I read yesterday about prank phone calls made me remember that time I thought someone from the sheriff’s department was on the way to pick me up.


I’ve been told that I’m a pretty vanilla person on this blog before, plus I’ve openly boasted about having never gotten a speeding ticket. As such, you might be surprised to learn that there was a time when I thought I was going to jail.

Back when I was 26, I tried marijuana for the first time. The boy was away (which I feel obligated to say, so the possible judgment is knocked down a tad), and my sister was home for the weekend. She is a marijuana aficionado and had been for quite some time. She made many, many efforts to get me to try it over the years, but I always declined. Not because I’m a goody two shoes (only partly), but also because I figured I’d look like an idiot considering how the three times attempting to smoke a cigarette went. (If you have asthma that you know gets really bad when someone else is smoking around you, trying smoking anything isn’t a great idea.)

I finally gave in. Peer pressure. It took a long time to get pressured into it, but by golly, it happened.

So, we went out to the carport and smoked. Well, I did two small puffs of the thing and coughed terribly and said that I’d just have a drink. That ended up being way more vanilla than you thought, didn’t it? No silliness, pretty lame as far as a story of trying weed for the first time goes. I’ve had enough wild times with alcohol to make up for that. Of course, those are probably still pretty tame compared to most people’s stories. The wildest things I ever did that I can remember was dye my husband’s hair red and take a bicycle for a spin around the block.

Fast forward to three days later. I got a phone call, which I screened because I don’t often answer my phone when I know who is calling, let alone when I don’t recognize the number.  I looked up the number on the computer and it was the local Sheriff’s Department.

WTF?

I had a slight mental breakdown because I’m the paranoid sort, and dammit, I knew what something bad would happen if I tried weed, and then the phone rang again. I answered.

“Is this E?” the deep voice asked.

“Yes…”

“This is the Sheriff’s Department and we wanted to let you know that we have a warrant for your arrest for doing illegal drugs and will be by to pick you up at 4:00.”

Click.

I burst out into tears. I was going to jail for the rest of my life for doing that illegal thing one time, didn’t even get the effects of it, and I was going to be someone’s bitch. Noooooo!

celebs_show_us_their_ugly_cries_14

My husband was working in his office and I went in there, crying still. “I’m going to jail!”

“What?” He looked rather amused.

“They called and are coming to get me. They have a warrant! I’m being arrested!” I sobbed.

“Why on earth would the cops call you to tell you that they’re arresting you and give you a chance to get away?” he asked.

I didn’t know the answer to that question. I didn’t know how cops do warrants with stay-at-home-moms who pose no threat to anyone.

“Well they are!” More tears.

He took my phone and looked up the number to verify that it was indeed the Sheriff’s Department. “This doesn’t make any sense. Who did you talk to? I’m calling them to find out what’s going on.”

Just at that moment, the phone rang again. Same number. He answered it. “You do know that she has certain Constitutional rights and that you can’t just come arrest her with no proof of something that was done on private property,” he barked into the phone without saying “Hello.” Crap, he was going to make me stay in jail longer.

Then he shook his head and handed the phone to me.

“Hello?” I was shaking.

“We’re coming to get you now. Be ready,” the deep voice said.

“I’m sorry, I won’t ever do it again!” I pleaded.

And then, “Bwahahaha!” came a high-pitched laugh, one that I had grown up with, belonging to my sister. “Man, I got you!”

As it turns out, there is something you can pay for to mask your phone number and put in any number you want to pop up on someone’s caller ID. Combine that with a voice changer purchased in the toy section from Walmart, and my sister had gotten me for a mere $10.

I wanted to kill her, of course, but considering how happy I was over the fact that I wasn’t going to jail at the moment, I laughed. Later I realized how easily it would be for someone to fake being from the credit card company or whatever using this masking technique to rip you off. (So don’t trust the caller ID!)

For the record, I used to play a lot of pranks on people and still do, occasionally. My sister and I had been engaged in a prank war at that point. She certainly won with that one.


What’s the worst prank someone has played on you?

About Anxious Mom, As Narrated By Morgan Freeman

While updating my About Me page, I decided to have a little fun with it. And since there has been an influx of new followers, I thought I’d share that page as a blog post. Welcome aboard, new folks.


Per the blog post title, you should read this in Morgan Freeman’s voice. 

Anxious Mom, who is known as “Mommy,” “Mom,” or “Momo” by her children, is a 30-something woman who resides in the Deep South. (And by “resides,” we mean “suffers” due to the unbearable heat and humidity.) She has two heathens — a son in middle school and a daughter in kindergarten. When the children aren’t busy tormenting each other, they torture their mother in ways only children can.

There are many things Anxious Mom enjoys doing in her spare time. If you ask her directly, she’d probably tell you that she loves reading and doing intellectual activities such as going to the museum. If you observe her in her habitat, however, you’ll find that she mostly watches shows on Netflix and plays games in her downtime. She is particularly fond of comedies, including The Office, Parks and Rec, Friends, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine. She has jokingly said that liking one of those shows is required to be friends with her, but through careful observation, we have learned it is not, in fact, a joke.

If you asked Anxious Mom about her background, she’d tell you that she did a brief stint as a teacher before becoming a stay-at-home-mom. Since then, she has done freelance work part-time, including providing content writing and editing services. Her primary job, however, is working as a chauffeur. This is where she truly excels in life, as she has a penchant for punctuality (as long as her children and husband don’t intervene) and safety. The mother, who we suspect was a hall monitor in another life, is proud of having never gotten a speeding ticket. She does, however, fill her swear jar every other day thanks to her time on the road, so she isn’t as goody-two-shoes as she seems.

As you can see, Anxious Mom is a blogger. Some people call her a mommy blogger, and that irritates her greatly. “I am a mom who blogs,” she maintains, as though there is truly a difference. She has blogged for five years and writes about herself and her family. When she first started blogging, she wrote a lot about her mental health, and it’s suspected that she’ll do so again. The rapidly-approaching-middle-age mother is also fond of writing blog posts where she rants about meaningless topics.

This concludes our glimpse into the life Anxious Mom. You can read her other blog posts or follow her on Instagram for other mundane insights into her life.

GIF It Up

Yesterday, my husband was messaging me while I was waiting in the car rider line. He was supposed to have a meeting at 2:30, but it was a bit past 3:00, and he was still waiting on the guy from work to call. Since I was also playing Words With Friends, I just sent over a gif to express my thoughts:

His response:

Later on in the evening, after I got home and he had his meeting, we got to talking about the school psychologist who needs his throat punched.

“What we really needed was that gif of ‘What kind of shit is that?’ that you sent over yesterday to let that asshole know how we really felt,” my husband said.

I agreed. “Yeah, or something like this.” I hurriedly pulled up a gif on my app:

“Except louder,” I said.

And then an idea was born: the GifPad. We decided that having a tablet dedicated to pulling up gifs to express our emotions at any given moment would be the best thing ever. Because who wants to use words to express their feelings, amirite? Really though, some of those gifs really get the point across, and do so better than one of us going on a 5-minute long rant about why the psychologist was an asshole and how unhelpful he was with the girl. Plus, there’s the benefit of humor. It’s funny, so other people are less likely to get all pissy. It’s like how Southerners add “bless his heart” to things after saying an insult, except a modern solution.

Here are some situations where the GifPad would come in handy:

When your tween mouths off for the umpteenth time, you could go with the Michael Scott “I’ll kill you” gif, but since you’d probably want to avoid a visit from CPS, this would work better–

When your dad, who knows you have liberal beliefs, sends you the millionth meme on why Donald Trump is America’s savior and why liberals are idiots–

When your mother-in-law has fucked her computer again, despite telling her many times not to download attachments in emails from people she doesn’t know–

When some asshole takes 20 minutes at the Redbox and reads through the description of Every. Fucking. Movie. and then walks away–

When your husband pisses you off and tries to initiate sexy time later–

When your doctor wants to discuss your health at your well visit, when all you wanted was to get your blood drawn and flee–

And when your kid’s teacher wants to meet with you to “discuss his progress”–

I could also use that one at least a dozen times per day when people don’t talk loudly enough for me to hear.

The GifPad will be also configured with gifs that express positive emotions, but I won’t be using that, because smiling awkwardly works just fine for me.

What situation would you rather use the GifPad instead of words?

Wednesday Funnies

It’s time for a few funny — or at least mildly amusing — things the kids have said over the past week.

Little Man and I have been playing Words With Friends with each other. (If you wanna play, you can find me at “supmynerds.”) I know we could play Scrabble, but this is much more convenient since we can just play it as we go. We were playing last night when the boy started giggling like crazy.

“Wait till you see what I put,” he said, still snickering. “It’s so inappropriate!”

I opened up the app wondering if “fart” or “poop” had made an appearance yet again. Nope. He spelled:

SEX

I chuckled. Here we go with the dirty middle schooler brain. (Or what he thinks is being dirty, anyway.) I imagine it won’t be long before “That’s what she said” clicks for him. Right now, he’s mostly chiming in with “That’s what she said” for perfectly innocent comments like, “I’m running to Wal-Mart now” or “Let’s watch something on TV.”


Over the weekend, the kids were tasked with picking up their toys in the living room and their bedrooms. BG was dragging ass, as usual, since cleaning is “the most yucky thing EVER.” (She usually changes her tune a bit when I bring out a trash bag to bag up her yucky toys to take to storage.) LM picked up something of hers in the living room and tossed it in the floor of her bedroom, which she took issue with.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to throw toys in the floor, LM. Pick it up and put it where it goes!”

“You’re a good one to talk,” LM said. “You’ve got toys all over your floor.”

BG huffed. “Well, you shouldn’t try to be like me.”

Cue LM getting the giggles.


This one started out rather annoying. LM had open house at school last week. He led us around to meet his teachers and got pissy when we wanted to meet all of the teachers on one hall before going to another.

“We need to go in order,” he insisted. “We have to go in the order the classes on my schedule is in.”

Walking all over the building from one end to the other multiple times in the crowded as fuck hallways? Uh-uh. Plus, we needed to hurry along and pick up BG so we could do dinner and baths and get in bed on time. We explained this, which put him in a hell of a mood. He walked to a couple of classes and glumly pointed out what they were and would try to take off before we could even speak to the teacher. By the time we were 2/3 of the way through the schedule, we were getting irritated.

And then we went to the gym.

The kid who wasn’t very happy about being pulled from a computer class (they put him in the same one twice) and moved to PE completely lit up.

“And this is where we have PE!” he said excitedly. “Come on, I want to show you something cool.”

He practically drug us to…

*drumroll*

The boys’ locker room. And it smelled like ass. I wasn’t sure what “cool” thing I was going to look at in the gym, but a gross locker room wasn’t on the list of possibilities.

“Come on, let’s check out everything. I can show you where I change and my locker and the football equipment.”

The PE teacher came in just then and totally cracked up. He said that was the first time a kid wanted to show off the locker room. We didn’t hang around in there long, because it seriously stunk. At least he got excited about something, though.

On another note, the teachers we got to talk to seemed to like LM. His English teacher especially. She mentioned how well-behaved and respectful he was and commented on how if she hadn’t seen his 504 Plan that she wouldn’t have known he had ADHD. That’s probably due to a combination of his meds and how much he enjoys their class. They switch up classes this week, so she’ll have in in the afternoon instead of the morning, so we’ll see if the meds are still working their magic by then.

Happy Wednesday!

Friday Funnies

This has been an exhausting week, but I’ll save all that for another post. For now, I’m gonna focus on a few things that made me chuckle this week.

My husband’s uncle is on Facebook. He’s in his 80s and is quite a piece of work (he once told my husband all Obama supporters should get out of the country). My husband showed me something he posted this week that had us both laughing.

Nope, you’re not gonna find friends on Facebook by posting a status, dude. The funny thing about this is that he has multiple Facebook profiles (two with his name misspelled, including this one), and he has added himself to his other accounts. And I don’t even get that last thing. Why would you do that? My husband’s dad has ten, yes TEN, Facebook accounts that we know of, and he adds himself to all of his other profiles.


Coming in the year 2040: MarsFrog Frozen Yogurt. It will be available on the planet Neptune. Originally, it was going to be on the moon, but Baby Girl changed it to Neptune. She decided that after she becomes an astronaut, she’s opening up her own frozen yogurt shop. Fine by me, because I love the stuff. She asked me to go through astronaut training so I can come with her and help with her shop. I agreed. She’s still deciding what she wants to have on her toppings bar.


I swear, sometimes I still feel like I’m dealing with a toddler. Last night, I succeeded in pissing off Baby Girl while giving her a bath. Somehow we started talking about our vacation for next summer, and I told her we were cruising to Mexico. She asked what language they speak there and I told her Spanish. BG said she didn’t want to go there because she doesn’t know enough of the language to talk to them. I explained that many people there also speak English like she does, so she’d be fine.

“I don’t speak English,” she said.

“Yes, you do.”

“NEVER! I would never speak English! I talk regular.”

I told her that English was the language she was speaking at that moment, which caused her to start thrashing around and yelling. After she calmed down, I explained that England, another country, colonized this country, which is why we speak English. She seemed satisfied with that and stopping fussing over it.

Of all the ways I can piss her off, I would never have imagined that would be one of them.


That’s all I’ve got for now. Happy Friday 🙂

Lazy Monday

It’s been a “stay in my pajamas” kind of day. My husband worked from home, we didn’t have anywhere to be today, and he picked up pizza for dinner, so I don’t even have to mess with that. I have washed some clothes, but I’m not even gonna fold them today. I have multiple laundry baskets for a reason, and I’m not ashamed to admit that we sometimes live out of them.

BG has commented a few times about how she’s happy that I’m still in my jammies. Out of the stuff in my jammy drawer, there are two striped nightgowns that she loves. I bought them when I was pregnant with her, and they’re super soft and great for cuddling. (But heaven forbid I lean over to pick up something, because then the ass is on display.) The girl is low-key obsessed with the nightgowns, and last night she told me she doesn’t want me to wear anything else but the nightgown from now on. Maybe I better warn her that I’m not wearing this when we go see her teacher tomorrow.

The kids have had me cracking up big time over the past few days. While we were out shopping this weekend, LM saw an Oregon Trail handheld game and made a comment about it. BG perked up and said, “ORGAN TRAIL? You mean there’s a game where we walk around and look for body organs?!” That child was over the moon at the possibility of such a game. She was kinda disappointed when I told her they didn’t have a serial killer in training game and that it was something else. LM said he might print out some body organs, paste them to cardboard, and make an Organ Trail outside for her this week. This is all so weird, but he’s a sweetie.

And yesterday, their shenanigans caused a booboo, but how it happened was hilarious. I was doing stuff in the living room when I heard a bump and crying. She fell out of the bed and hit her head. After consoling the girl, I asked what happened.

“I was being Scar and LM was being Mufasa and the bed was the cliff. I was trying to push Mufasa off the cliff, but I fell over, too. I’ll never try to push Mufasa off a cliff again.”

You really can’t make this shit up.

The girl LOVES Scar, by the way. She thinks he’s funny. Hmm. I’ve only watched the cartoon version all the way through once and then the live-action, so I didn’t get the funny vibes with the murderer and then attempted murderer so much, but okay.

So, I’m the person everyone comes to when they want their tech stuff fixed in my family. My MIL needed the battery in her laptop replaced, and it wasn’t as simple as sliding off a battery compartment cover and popping it out, because there isn’t such a cover. I had to open up the laptop and remove the keyboard to access the battery and unscrew it to get it out. Not easy-easy, but easy enough. Until BG came in the room.

She wanted cheese samples. She is obsessed with going to Harris Teeter and other grocery stores and getting samples. So now she wants me to make her samples, which I do buy cutting up a cheese stick in smaller pieces. I told her to wait five minutes while I finished screwing the battery in place, but she didn’t want to wait. So she climbed up on a footstool next to me and told me very loudly in my ear that she wanted her samples, but then she slipped and fell, and grabbed the laptop on the way down. The damn ribbon cord connecting the keyboard to the motherboard tore in half.

BG felt terrible and kept talking about how she was a bad girl now who messes up all the time. (Any mistake she makes these days, no matter how tiny, gets that reaction from her.) I got her to quit the negative self-talk and then we talked about the consequences of our actions and stuff, and I think it clicked why it’s important to be patient. (And I learned to never work on anything expensive when she’s in the house.)

I found a couple fix-its online, but they were done by people who really know what they’re doing and looked like a pain in the ass (and probably not possible for me to do anyway). Shit. I found a refurbished Chromebook online for cheap (like about the same cost as taking the old one to an expert and having it fixed) and ordered it. I told BG that I got her grandma a new laptop and asked if she was going to help me pay for it. I was teasing, because it’s not like she has money anyway. Her reaction:

“Why would I give you my money to buy something for someone? I’m saving it so I can go to Taco Bell. I could give you a penny, but I don’t see why.”

I told her I didn’t actually expect her to help pay for something like that, but did explain how when people break something they usually help pay for it/help fix it/whatever. She left and returned with some money.

“I have a dollar bill in my piggy bank, but I’m using that to get a cheesy roll-up from Taco Bell. I did bring TWO pennies for you, though, and you can use that to buy the laptop.”

So generous.

I’m so glad we had a lazy day at home. Appointments, appointments, appointments for the rest of the week! Buuuut nothing in the evenings, so yay.