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?

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.

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 🙂

That’s What She Said

Some of y’all know that The Office is one of my favorite TV shows ever. The boy has watched it with us for a long time. We used to be careful about which episodes he watched, but since turning 11, we haven’t paid attention as much. And this has resulted in him saying a few things that are rather inappropriate.

I’ve heard, “That’s what she said” about 500 times. In all fairness, that became a thing at LM’s school. A lot of his classmates also watch The Office, so they have all picked up on Michael’s favorite saying. The kicker? They don’t have a clue what it means judging from the examples LM has given me. For example, if the teacher said, “Read blah blah for homework,” one of the kids would say, “That’s what she said.” Or if the teacher said, “Line up for lunch,” someone would say, “That’s what she said.”

They basically think the phrase is supposed to be used for whenever a female says something, which is hilarious. LM accidentally used it appropriately recently. I commented on something being a mouthful, and he said, “That’s what she said.” He had no clue why I thought that was hilarious vs. my lack of laughter when he later told me, “That’s what she said” after I commented on how good the tacos were.”

Remember this one?

Yeah…LM called his sister that a few weeks ago when he got pissed off at her. I was driving at the time, and driving isn’t a good thing to be doing when you hear your son call his sister that. After telling him not to ever repeat that again, I asked him what he thought it meant. “It means she’s a dumb brat,” he told me. Uh, no. Just no. And even then, we don’t call names.

(BTW, when I had to reorder checks last year, I tried to have this printed on my checks. I know, I know, not mature, but the lady in the office at LM’s school is someone I don’t like at all, so I wanted to print them for her — every time I send in a check, it’s in an envelope only she sees. Unfortunately, the company canceled the order.)

And just last week, LM made a reference that caught his dad off guard. He was in the bathroom supervising the kids brushing their teeth when I heard him yell, “NO! Don’t ever say that again!” LM said this:

And we’re back to making sure he only watches certain episodes of the show.