Posts Tagged ‘laugh at yourself’

From day one, I learned that approval of other humans meant goodness and disapproval meant soul-crushing unworthiness.  Mark Zuckerburg made a multi-billion dollar company off the approval  concept, that stems back to notes in class; “Do you like me? check – yes or no.” Many bloggers are making a ton of money by controversially polarizing  people against one another, faster than Dr Phil can rattle off a cliché during Family Feud.  

My need for society’s or social media’s approval has taken up too much rent-free space in my Rolodex imagination.  I no longer wish to take hellish business trips into the vicissitudes of my multiple inferiority complexes.

Listed below are ten things I am going relinquish and cast out  from my rent-free brain, to free up more space  for watching “Walking Dead” marathons, because that is some uplifting television.  In five years or even five minutes,  my approval rating will not matter and it’s only important to me, my family and those who  truly care for me.

1) Catering my writing and posts for more “likes” and “comments.”  Obviously I want to engage people in my writing and connect with people.  On the flip side,   It’s  selfish act, because its therapeutic and its a great way for me to practice self-care and hopefully along the way, I am inspiring people or making people snort milk out of there nose with laughter. However I am not going to tie my identity and self-worth into lack of engagement or cruel comments. It’s truly not worth my time.

2) Taking Facebook off my smart phone. I do like Facebook. I do like staying in touch with people. I love seeing friends and family and funny bird dancing videos. I don’t like feeling like I need to  check in on Facebook all the (insert string of profanity here) time. It’s a great social tool, period end of story. I need a break from it being on my phone, because I absorb everything I read and sometimes it’s just too much for my spongy brain. If I had been fancy with the numbers,  I would have been a mathematical genius.

3) Ending this incessant need to feel like I need to’ like’ and ‘comment’ on everything I see on Facebook so no-one feels left out or unworthy. (the flip of #1) I know right?  I am not a ego maniac, but # 3 begs to differ, maybe it’s ego doing a doughnut in reverse?  I am also not Facebook’s Mom. I will say, this behavior stems from knowing deep down, what it feels like to be left out, teased, bullied , and cast aside,  I do not wish that for anyone, even my “frenemies” ;),  I can’t save the world and definitely  not through Facebook.

3) Agreeing with people because I do not want to defend my opinion because I do not think my opinion or my thought process is valid.

4) Taking on other people’s sadness or bull$h^!, like I am their therapist. I will ‘Melodie Beattie’ my co-dependency habits right on out the door.  I wonder if Melodie knows, she is now a verb in my life.

5) Saying ‘No’ to activities I can not pursue and say yes to honoring my own commitments to myself and my family.

6) Putting my ‘Stay at Home Mom Guilt’ in a giant trash bag, setting it in the trash, lighting the trash on fire and busting out “The Dougie” while that guilt fades away. I have nothing to feel guilty about, other moms working to support their family HAS NOTHING TO DO with my family’s decision for me to be a stay at home mom.

7) Resisting the urge to flip my lid when someone provides unsolicited feedback. That is all their business, luggage, skeletons and carry-baggage, not mine.  #byefelicia.

8) Purposely trying to cut people out of my life that honestly care about me as a person. That’s even hard for me to type, so the walls  may never reach the foundation and I am accepting of my protective nature. I am trying to be less of a military-black-ops-bad-ass with my emotions. I’m not fighting a war against feeling my emotions anymore.

9) Heeding any attention on my perception on how people “judge me”. We all do it. I want to do it less, and care less when people do it to me.

10) Feeling like I should not blog or be a writer because Word Press makes me blotchy and scratchy because I am allergic the “hyperlinks and widgets.” Feeling “less than” other writers, because I did not go to graduate school, or I am not smart enough or I’m too old, or my blog is not pretty enough , or I can not upload cool pictures of cool people doing cool things in GIF format. I’m not writing for children.  I will stop feeling like I “need” to write because I am a Stay at Home Mom and I need bellow out my productivity statistics in order to justify my existence and relevance.  I’m writing for myself.

10a) Feeling like I need to profusely swear in my writing to be more “relevant”.  I agree, it makes for some humorous reading and I think Huff PO even said, utilizing profanity is a sign of intelligence.. (I truly think some of their pieces are a…. “Hey boss, watch me post this blog and see the internet explode..) but nonetheless, It’s just not who I am as a person. I save all my profanity for Atlanta roads.

I do not need your approval for my life.  I do not need to justify my actions to anyone other than God and my family. I do not owe anyone, anything (well maybe the bank and stuff). I think Salt and Peppa said it best  “There is only one true judge, and that’s God  so chill, and let my Father do his work. side note (please insert whoever your God or Higher Power etc, with the Salt and Pepper rhyme,    do not turn my last sentence into a religious debate   ..xo)

Seriously, if you could walk inside my brain you would be like “OMG. I HATE ROLLER COASTERS”. It’s REALLY busy in there.   I look forward to sleep because it means I am able to stop my brain from circling around like a tornado. I know deep in my soul I am a “writer” because I am always talking to myself, fighting with myself, directing myself, or having full blown debates WITH MYSELF on whether or not I have pushed the wrinkle shield on the dryer four or five times today.   Due  to the summer and “mom life”, I have been seriously side tracked like that runaway train in Unstoppable. I am NOT complaining.  The best way to describe what I am feeling right now can be explained as follows (especially to women because we seem to struggle with this scenario more than men):

  • You get a normal rhythm going with moderate healthy eating and exercise (I say moderate because I tend to get all obsessive about these things and moderation is really the only way I can stay sane)
  • Something happens (the eclipse. Kayne Marries Kim.  You get sidetracked with a debate on whether Beyonce is “all dat” or not, or you get sick..You know lifey stuff
  • The “hiccup of derailment”  catapults into days. weeks. month. You start eating cheetos for breakfast.  You count the “Insanity” Info-Mercial as “exercise”.

You get my point.  Once you get off that routine, you start psyching yourself out to STAY OFF because you are pissed at yourself for getting off in the first place and then you just let the “hiccup of derailment” become  a paralysis of production.  This is precisely what has occurred with my writing.  Yes, I have been  updated my journal but lets face it guys, I can’t even read what I wrote.   One of my entries is as follows:

Roman Numeral 56:  August 24th, Sprayed shower head outside of the shower. mess.  exercise ball bust tread. difficulty “ganning”?  thots.

I will spare you poor souls who are trapped reading my stream of consciousness writing, by not transcribing any more of my journal entries. (You want to stop reading my blog, but you just cannot stop, I’m like a four hour Lifetime movie)  Let me translate:  On August 24th,  I became misguided with which shower-turning-apparatus to utilize and the detachable shower-head was pointing out beyond the shower door. Needless to say, I was on the inverted loop part of my roller coaster brain and rather than JUST TURNING THE SHOWER OFF, I took way to long to reach up (on my tippie tippie toes because I’m vertically challenged) to BARELY commence the cessation of Niagara Falls onto my bathroom floor.  Additionally, my son felt it would be a fabulous idea to put the exercise-ball on the treadmill and hit ZOOM, in which it got trapped under treadmill and exploded. I will say , I had to hide my laughter when telling him that these are not appropriate extra curricular activities in the the basement.  My friend of four high spirited children responded with a “ROFL” text when I told her this story.

Do you know how many emails I have sent to myself to be filed under my gmail label “Writing ideas”? SIX HUNDRED TWENTY!!!  and the majority of these ideas were in the last couple of months. Writing prompts are my Kryptonite because I am a WALKING WRITING PROMPT!   I also thought it would be a fabulous idea to FIND writing contests to enter in an effort to feel like a more “productive writer”.   I think that last sentence was uttered out loud to my   husband which triggered a “head in his hands head shake” and the exclamation  “FOR THE LOVE OF MANKIND!! JUST FREAKING WRITE LAURIE!”

I am a solution oriented person. Yes it takes me a little bit longer to find a solution but I’m a scrappie, determined fighter, mixed with a philosophical-debating-furrowed-brow chromosome where my thoughts go to war with each other like the dudes from that movie 300.  (Apparently the latter of that sentence is now referred to as “RBF or Resting Bitch Face”, which I find HYSTERICAL because there is no guesswork in pinpointing when I am lost in my thoughts).    I do not want to say “I’m too smart for my own good”, because as referenced above from the  Suburban-Mom-Psycho-incident , that clearly isn’t the case.  In an effort to stay in the solution, I am going to list  acitivies that I will STOP doing immediately deter me from writing:

  • Reading the comments section on controversial blog topics  – People seem to take out their repressed child hood anger on bloggers via the  comment sections. I have had nightmares of an angry polemicist finding my blog and slicing me to pieces  with his/her verbal mastery.
  • Reading the comments section on high-profile Facebook posts/topics –  I am scared for all mankind and I feel like building a bunker and going into hiding after such an activity.
  • Googling “Does Kelly Ripa Eat Carbs”
  • Comparing myself to other MOMS.
  • Watching the “Anaconda” video and weeping like a baby because Sir Mix A Lot’s “Baby Got Back” has been forever ruined, and probably won’t be played at my retirement home in twenty five years.
  • Staring at my 620 writing prompts and saying “eff-it I just do not even know where to START,  omg, Sea-Salt-Gelato sounds so good right now!”
  • Taking Vanilla Ice’s  prose literally:  “If there is a problem, yo I’ll solve it” in thinking I can and need to solve the world’s problems, ESPECIALLY on Facebook (blog about my Facebook hiatus later..) tragedies  unfold at an alarming pace in our world and I absorb it ALL.
  • Obsessively cleaning.  I have to find a balance between “eff-it” and “Mommie Dearest episodes of the Clorox Rave party”
  • “Am I a good writer?” NEEDS to be eliminated from my thought process and from my vernacular


And No, I am not drinking.






1) My kids are out of school.

2) I absolutely give myself an F in multitasking.

3) Seriously, I can’t walk and chew gum, it’s that bad.

4) When I start to get worked about about my “to do” list, it freaks me out and I get anxiety around the kids, which leads me to ..

5) I start comparing myself to Moms who have a 18 ab-pack, “stay at home” and “run a business”, or “work part time” or  “run a charity” or  cook, bake, dance, dust, plant, and ferberized all their children by the time they were three months. Even feberized the neighbors children and almost got them to feberize my children too, but 6 and 9 YEARS were above the cut in feberization training.*

6) When I start comparing, I get cranky. When I get cranky, I furrow my brow. When I furrow my brow, I have to set aside MORE MONEY for my future Botox treatments (no I haven’t had any..), because I already have the Victor Newman/Clark Gable deep forehead wrinkles that look fascinating on a man and not so much on a woman.

Caveat – I  need to be set  aside ALL our Botox money for college because according to the internet,  we are all dying from melting ice caps caused by the private jet plane fuel from the ostentatious Kimye** wedding,  GMO’s*** are in EVERYTHING, political controversy  gridlocks sneezing now and seriously, we are all going to die very soon. Bottom line,  the world will soon dissipate via spontaneous combustion because it gets clogged with TOO MANY KARDASHIAN** SHOWS, by the time my kids will be pursing their studies; thus, they will be receiving their education on Mars.

7) Did you read # 6? That’s pretty much any one of my “million” “complete” thoughts in a single day. It is kind of a miracle that I can blog , AT ALL really. You should see my writing scrapbook and journal. I can’t read half of what I hand- wrote. It’s fun, it’s like learning a new language when I go back and read stuff. I mean, I caveat my itemized lists?  WHO DOES THAT? Yes, I EVEN YELL AT MYSELF IN ALL CAPS IN MY JOURNAL.

8) I’m writing a book too,  I can’t multitask.   Like right now, the word count got stuck on that evil number and it wouldn’t move so it really freaked me out so I just started typing gibberish until the word count thing moved, and yeah, that’s kind of how my brain works.

9) In addition to my two children, we have a bearded dragon, name Echo who seems to go on some kind of hunger strike every three months. While I initially acquired this pet because a) My son completed some arbitrary task I had been begging him to complete and b) I THOUGHT it would be easier than a dog, he is kind of like having a third child. Oh ok, maybe a 1/2 a child. or 1/2 dog. or 1/2 cat or something.

10) Through all my self- help journeys, ONE MESSAGE, is abundantly clear to me lately is that I need to FREAKING RELAX and not worry about “getting it all done” or “I wonder what so and so thinks” .  When I do not “hold-still” and go a million miles an hour, I end up in a big giant pile of anxiety-produced-goo. In a nutshell, I’m going to take it easy on myself with my writing schedule and everything really, because life is short, and dammit I really thought this blog would be shorter!  I know some of you have my critical, yet short, attention span and if goes over thousand word count, I lose you. I get it!

Summary – I am not going to “sweat the small stuff” (Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff was a college graduation gift, I guess I sweat a lot, wouldn’t a case of Secret been more suitable?)  and as much as I love WRITING ; – blogging/book etc etc, are not  as important as the two and 1/2 mini reptile-humans I have under my roof that will need more of me than normal. :)



*Ferberization – Please Google it for the non-sarcastic definition. IN a nutshell it means letting your baby cry it out so they sleep 14 hours a night without bothering you and they live amazing, blissful, fabulous lives forevermore because you did not go running to their every wince and need when they were wee babies. . I was the Mom that absolutely could not do this. a) it sound like nail spikes on a chalkboard b) I wanted to sleep and I just couldn’t “tune it out”. I would sleep upright next to my sons crib so he could play with my hair.  I even BOUGHT a barbie doll (because, I did not have a girl YET) and try to prop her up, but the doll was to small and he could pull into crib and choke on a barbie doll so, yeah I don’t recommend the Barbie Doll Sleep Method.

Yes, my children still crawl into our bed very early in the morning..   ( like anywhere from 3 to 5 am)  GASP.   Some people think this is HORRENDOUS. Good Lord is it your bed? Please.  That’s another blog: 10 ways I keep my head from exploding when people without kids give unsolicited parenting advice OR people with kids try to tell you about their amazing parenting skills and they really do not have “many issues” with parenting, at all.  Vomit.

** Kimye -(I got that from Saturday Night Live, it’s Kim & Kayne’s name spliced together. You know from the Kardashians. If you do not know who they are , I applaud you for focusing on much more meaningful worldwide news.)

***GMO – Google it. I’m too exhausted to explain. It’s a “hot topic” so it will pop up maybe before Good Morning America?  (GMA)


++++++  Usual Disclaimer: DO NOT TAKE ME SERIOUSLY.  This stuff sounds extremely funny in my head, I have deemed myself a “comedic writer”, but I am too chicken to even attempt stand up. Anyhoo, another writer friend told me that comedic writing does not work well unless it’s narrated verbally, and people just think the writer is “angry”.   That’s so not the case, this is my free therapy and my goal is to make myself laugh at myself and for you to just LAUGH!


Shortest Blog ever by Scrappie Momma:

I stopped counting the calories,
I put the scale in the garage,
I refuse to be addicted
To this perfectionist mirage

Everyday can be struggle
Of “omg is this organic??”
Bc every health article I read
Seems to send me into a panic

Health will ALWAYS be a part of me
BC my 9th grade health teacher was Hawt
Ok that’s not entirely true
But I think I just laughed a lot

I’m trying to live in moderation
Break the chains of control that confine me
So if you see me reading a label in deliberation
Tell me its ok, life is a gift, let it go & be free

I rarely blast out rhymes
This literally just popped into my head
I blog most of the time
Possibly, I just lost my Rap Street cred*

My head is a Rolodex in the wind
Where I control the uncontrollable around me
Somewhere I learned enjoying food was a sin
But thankfully I’m slowly learning  to just BE

I have no clue how to end a poem
The words don’t flow as easily
Just a quick glimpse I have shown
& help my day go more readily


* Kind of an inside joke, a lot of aspiring rap artists follow me on twitter. I mean not a lot, but enough where I’m wondering if Scrappie Momma is being mistaken  for Lil Momma or Drop Dem Rhymes Momma?  Who knows, I just hope there is no misconception that I have 1) any street cred because I grew up on farms,  a fishing village and in Shaker Heights Ohio, and 2) that I can rap, because I do try and it’s horrendous.

I wrote this a while ago. I’m catching up on all my handwritten blogs.  I have had a lot of dental work lately and my favorite drama on television is The Walking Dead. On with it.

1)  You witness a dental team utilize a mini arsenal of mini home improvement and home gardening tools ON YOUR MOUTH.  This way, if you every need pet zombies for protection (Michonne, Walking Dead) you can loot a dental office and mimic what you witnesses while people were gardening in your mouth; except, precision and pain alleviation will not be an issues.

2)The dental insurance companies cover one toof.  So either you have one really great toof, to use when you become a Zombie during an Apocalypse, or you drained your savings to save the other toofies. Either way, you will have something to work with as a Zombie if you visit the dentist regularly!!!  Yes I spelled toof incorrectly on purpose.  I do not know why, maybe it’s some kind of rebellious gesture towards Dental Insurance companies for the asinine  policy of COVERING ONE TOOF OR ONE QUADRANT of said Toofies.

  •     Side note. I had ZERO clue on how to spell asinine.  So I looked up “assynyne” on google. Apparently it’s very popular name for hip hop groups and rock bands.  And YES, I know how to spell toof. Remember, I’m rebelling.

3)Laughing Gas is awesome.  So if things start to go south during a Zombie Apocalypse, find a dental office STAT, to hide your posse in and hook yo’self up playah.

  •  I mean “go south” as it go poorly. Not “move towards the south”. This can be confusing, hence my clarification, because the Walking Dead is filmed in the South, in Georgia.  I never really thought of where the term “go South” as in “going poorly” comes from….?

4) Dental people have fabulous teeth. Zombies do not.

5) Dental offices are shiny, nice, sanitized, and play great family friendly movies like “Up” and “Despicable Me”; whereas,  any warehouse or church or home you take refuge in during a Zombie Apocalypse, you will most certainly not have said amenities.

6) If you are in a Zombie Apocalypse, make sure you have one of those Novocaine Needles filled with Novocaine. That way if you are about to get bit, you can jab the pre-bit area with said needle and it won’t hurt as much.

No Pain, you will be slain”  You may have to tell your Zombie-Attacker- Non -Human -Walker thing, to hold off for about five minutes until the Novocaine kicks in though…

7) Dental offices are loaded with awesome supplies and weapons to loot during a Zombie Apocalypse,  For survivors AND to ward off Zombies. Think about it. Also DON’T FORGET TO ROLL THAT LAUGHING GAS MACHINE WITH YOU WHEN YOU HEAD BACK TO PEOPLE-ALIVE-HUMANS CAMP. Seriously.  Don’t leave home without it.

8) If you go to the dental office a lot for surgeries etc, you are prepared for Zombie Attack pain.

9) If it were the Dental People versus Zombies as last people on earth, I would place big money on the Dental People winning.  They have great tools,  they have great teeth, they know how to keep sanitized and ward of zombie germs and mutations, and they will all be high on laughing gas so it won’t really matter anyways.

10) If you have great dental coverage and stay up to date on all your dental appointments, you will make one hell of a Zombie during an apocalypse, that’s the same as #2 , but that’s all I got.



or 10 things that happen when you end up in the emergency room. I have been in many ERS over the past year (no, not just for my children, my Dad was sick last year and we were  looking out for him etc etc,I  tell you this because if I didn’t you would be like WTF is wrong with this Mom).  Let’s cut out the insanely verbose scrappiemomma monologue and get right to it.  I write what I know:


1) My son recently got the bubonic plague. The above diagram indicates how the puking episodes transpired.

2) They feel like biscuit fireballs with the fever. On day 2 of da plague, he said his body felt like it was stretching. I almost passed out myself when the thermometer spiked to 104.5 in like seconds,  threw it across the room, grabbed keys, my son  & didn’t even finish taking his temperature.

3) Frantically sped towards emergency room with hazards on blast and screaming at red lights wondering;  “is it really necessary to have traffic lights in the middle of the night?” I suppose the tractor trailers  barreling down the road, deems traffic control mechanisms necessary. To a panicked Mom, though, anyone being on the road seemed unnecessary.

4) There is really NOTHING worse than and ER doc who is “dismissive”. I am being gentle here.  The other word I had chosen when I first write this started with an A and ended with a Hole.  I KNOW they are busy, I understand they are overwhelmed, but there really is no greater  feeling of complete helplessness when it comes to your family needing medical attention and the  ER people act like you are at Starbucks complaining that your foam isn’t foamy enough.

  •   Funny, Funny caveat. Last year the few times my Dad was in the ER, not so funny at the time; there was this one particular ER where instead of an actual NURSE or Attendant coming in to ask you registration questions, THEY WHEELED IN A GIANT MOBILE CART WITH A FREAKING PERSON ON SKYPE. Ever watch Big Bang Theory where Sheldon decides to only travel TO AND FRO via Skype on his computer? Seriously SAME SCENARIO.   Coincidentally, while I was providing pertinent information to “Shelbot”, a patient came running down the hallway, half dressed banging on the window, jumping up and down, pointing to my phone saying she needed to make a call.   At this point in the scenario, I was rendered speechless, and if you know me, it TAKES A LOT TO SHUT ME UP.

5)  This past ER visit. I had forgotten I cut and stubbed my pinkie toe on this fabulous garden paverkeepsgrassfromgrowingintoflowergarden thingies ( (seriously I’m HGTV illiterate)  my husband had put out front a few days before.   I looked down at cut on my toe and I FREAKED. I was convinced I had contracted the flesh eating bacteria while in the ER and almost had a panic attack and passed out until I remembered that I’m extremely clumsy and the majority of the bumps, bruises and scrapes I bequeath are due to my inability to walk a straight line. Sober.

6) You will do anything for your kids when they are sick. I was ready to donate any body part needed at any point in time.  We compromised by ordering an overpriced Minecraft bat on Amazon and then got really distracted and decided I needed to order the “tangle free brush” for my daughter. I was so incredibly distracted (there is a lot of ANXIETY RIDDEN DOWN TIME (#ARDT) and waiting in ERs and hospitals) I ended up order  SIX Ultimate De-tangling brushes.

  • Note, I capitalized ANXIETY RIDDEN DOWN TIME  and coined/hash tagged the term (ARDT) to indicate there is a HUGE difference between REGULAR DOWN TIME (#RDT…watching HGTV and Walking Dead) and #ARDT where ordering things on Amazon seems to alleviate anxiety. Buy now with one click is a highly dangerous button while undergoing #ARDT.

7)  There is a vast difference  in aesthetics, food, activities, Nursing Staff, at a regular hospital and a Children Hospital. I do not know how else to elaborate other than the fact it’s like Disney versus Chuckie Cheese.

8) I had a giant fever blister on my lip the entire time my son was in the hospital which if you know anything about fever blisters, they THRIVE on stress, so it like grew exponentially, hourly. To make me laugh, my friends kept saying that the Nurses were saying “High Maintenance Fever Blistered Mom in room 235 needs us again, no it’s YOUR turn to deal with her…”

9) Even “funnier”, somehow in the process of being in two 3 ERS  shuttled through Atlanta in ambulance transports etc etc , somehow someone forgot to write down the name and number of my son’s pediatrician; therefore, it was written on his chart “Family has no pediatrician”.   So I am downstairs in the Disney Cafe, when my husband texts me from my son’s room “Social Services is here, we do have pediatrician right?”

  Fever Blister Ridden Mom Drops salad on floor and screams “DON’T TAKE MY BABIES”.   Yes, I have a pediatrician for my children.

10) No disrespect to ANY of the staff in medical facilities , even if you are “dismissive” like # 4, because I’m sure Anxiety Ridden Fever Blistered Moms  are no picnic for the medical community either.  Even with all the ARDT that comes with  having a really sick kid, being in the ER, or being hospitalized, I am eternally grateful for  ERs, Hospitals, Children’s Hospitals and Nurses!


Happy Nurses Week :)


profielic1I think I blogged about this before, but I absolutely have zero memory of what I wrote and yes, I could go back and read it.  However, one of the 10 things that happen when you turn forty is forgetfulness and lack of patience.   (picture is me 40, husband 38. Yep. I’m a Cougar.  you can barely see my lips, see # 1)

On with it:

1) You lose your lip line. I’m not kidding, your face starts to melt into your lip line. Lip Liners are not for youthful people. The entire Lip Liner Industry was targeted for women over 40 who wake up one morning, look in the mirror and say “OMG WHERE ARE MY LIPS??????????????????”

a) Caveat: You LOSE LIP FAT.  LIP FAT. That’s NOT EVEN FAIR. God, or Buddha, or your divine being that created you / me, I must ask  “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING WITH THIS ONE??? Wasn’t there somewhere else on my 40 year old body that you could have taken fat to use for whatever you need fat from my lip to assist the body part with the needed fat from my lip??? I could make a few recommendations? ”

2) Spider Veins. Varicose Veins. Bumpy Veins. No, not the pretty ones that show on people who eat the perfect amounts of food and exercise perfectly and have pretty veins that barely show in their arms but kind of show because they are lean and strong. I’m talking veins that APPEAR OVERNIGHT in some cases that look like a cluster of blue bug bites.  Or Looks like your children got a hold of a blue sharpie, glue and blue confetti (not shiny or glittery, the dull confetti, the kind that sits out too long in the sun at the craft store and loses all its joie de vivre)  and decided to decorate your thighs and legs.

3) Cellulite.  Seriously. TRAPPED FAT?  Dear Divine Creator. Again, where are we going with this one? Fat being TRAPPED on your body. If the fat is there, isn’t it kind of already trapped?  Why do we need to make little pockets for it to stay trapped.  Its like Hotel California for FAT???   Purpose of Cellulite?? –  It gives the Celebrity Photo Shoppers a vocation.  OR it gives Celebrity Paparazzi something to chase after on the beach so they can hound some thin celebrity and broadcast to the world  “LOOK EVERYONE EVEN SHE HAS CELLULITE”  Nice.

a) Caveat: I recently took up foam rolling NOT because it’s a healthy and prevents injury.  I heard it “got rid of”  cellulite and I was all over that like paparazzi on cellulite on celebrities at the beach.  I know it does not get “rid of it”, I know the word was “reduces the appearance of cellulite” but in my book “reduces” = “rid of”.

4) Your metabolism? Wave good bye.  I had this whole long thing written out but there really is not a whole lot to explain.   Scientifically it’s the truth. I had to take a very long and cumbersome test when I was a fitness instructor and the ONE thing that they kept hammering over and over in the “Nutrition” section is the older you get, the more stuff slows down. Period. End of story.  I  passed the test (barely) but I know I got that answer right. The good news is if you foam roll, you will NEVER EVER get injured, have zero cellulite and can exercise off everything you eat. (I’m joking here…kind of….I’m really counting on this foam rolling stuff to kick in and turn me 20 again)

5) Ladies.  Your boobs. Will either go straight down or off to the side. I asked my friend if their was a cure for “armpit boobs.  Mine increasingly gravitate toward the side more and more, it seems like on a daily basis. I have to re-adjust them. Hourly. Dudes, I don’t know what happens to your instruments, but feel free to blog and let your 40 year old friends know all about whatever strange phenomenon is occurring  on an hourly basis, but keep it classy.

6) If you lacked patience before, expect to lack it even more. I went to very few camps or church gatherings as a child but there was one song I clearly remember  “Be patient Be patient don’t be in such a hurry, you will only start to worry, Just remember God has patience too, Just think of all the times others had to wait for you”.  The song frankly annoys me because it (as a song ) it invokes memories of people behind me in line, rolling their eyes and shooting me looks of severe disdain.  It divinely pops into my head when I am in the line from hell at Walmart or Home Deport or Lowes or Dollar General or DMV or where ever places long lines go to DIE.

7)  You eyelashes  leave their home and start a new home on your chin, , jawline , above your “un-lip-lined” lip, and the top of your feet. They move south for pre-Retirement years. No extra description needed here.

8)  Every time someone yelled out to you “Use sun screen” and you did not listen – turns into a sunspot, guess where??  The same place your eyelash hairs relocate to for their pre-Retirement party. Thus, you have a parade of unwanted hairs and GIANT torpedoed freckles on your upper lip, chin, jawline and feet in addition to the Hotel Calfornia’d cellulite and Micheal’s Craft store veins and so on and so forth.

9) You start giving your parent’s advice.  They don’t listen and they ignore EVERYTHING you say to them in form of advice and CHANGE THE SUBJECT TO SOMETHING THAT HAS TO DO WITH HIP HOP MUSIC?????   It’s like some twisted reverse-psychological- punishment for any hell you put them through when you were a teenager.   I really think they do it on purpose.

10) You drone on and on about “what happens when you turn 40”.  Mall teenagers, people in their “twenties” are mildly annoying, and TRUST me they find “people in their 40’s and above” as equally annoying. It’s just a vicious cycle of annoyance if anytime there is a mix of these ages; Which is virtually, any family gathering.  THE only PEOPLE that favor well at family gathering, are babies. So if you over the age of TWO, things just go down hill from there. HEY BABIES AND TODDLERS – Be prepared to be annoyed for the rest of your life. :)

WAIT, I almost forgot. Bonus) Forgetfulness.

WAIT, I just thought of another one when I was loading blog link to instagram.  SELFIES SUCK.

PS.This is ALL in good fun.



I was going to name this “10 Reasons why you should stop comparing yourself to others”  or “10 reasons why there should not be any comparison between the Stay at Home Mom (parent) versus the Working Parent” or “10 Reasons to accept yourself”   These are all very important topics, but I  really want to bring LAUGHTER into the blogging world.  Life is extremely serious, and there are things that need to be taken seriously, and there are amazing writers out there that are writing about very serious things and they all serve of equal importance in this extremely complex Universe. My problem is that my mind is an open web browser and every serious article/Facebook post/  of “you must change NOW”,  exploding in the informational highway, I absorb, over analyze and I get so distracted that I can not enjoy what is right in front of me at this very moment.

I KNOW it my opening paragraph is not Chuckle Hut worthy so on with it.  Here are 10 reasons why I will laugh at myself, (and Love) , I hope that you can find some time today to make yourself a quick list for yourself to help you love, laugh and accept yourself as to where you are at this very moment:

1) I wear Jackie Onassis dresses and love 1950s clothes, but I  also love really ratchet music. Like ratchet ratchet.  Like “Rack City” Ratchet. I mean, please, My Easter Dress looked like something out of Betty Crocker’s 1950’s picture-cookbook, all the while the top ten songs on my playlist are about “droppin’ it low”.  I will say; however, I do search high and low for the edited versions. I think that counts for something.

2)In continuation with my eclectic music and fashion sense, the song Let Her Go by Passenger makes me boo hoo like a baby. I do not know if it’s because of all the puppies and horses when it first came out or if it’s because it strikes some kind of peri-menopausal-tear-duct-gland or if when it’s played someone is cutting a onion nearby? I don’t know. It just makes me cry. It’s truly a beautiful song.

3) I cannot fold clothes if the floor needs to be vacuumed. For some reason it makes no earthly sense to me to be folding and putting away clothes when the floor is dirty.  You can imagine the havoc this wreaks if I get sick or my vacuum dies and my mop is on the fritz.  My sister lived with us for a while. She was very “on top” of the laundry.  If I saw her folding any stack of laundry, I would IMMEDIATELY, get the vacuum or mop out and start cleaning the floors. I would STOP whatever I was doing or convince her that she did not need to be folding the laundry because I am her sister and she should know I am just weird.

4) I have panic attacks at the grocery store when people bag my groceries.  I have to literally bite the inside of my cheek. I can’t do self- check out  either because I am very very slow and someone usually steps in and “assists” then I am back to the same conundrum.  Today I had a little freak out session because the bag person put all my cold stuff in the non cold recycle bags and vice-versa. Yes, I re-arranged all of this before loading into the car. I am sure I gave the person reading her People magazine in the car next to me a huge chuckle.

5) I am a horrendous drive-way driver.  Recently,  I was at a friend’s house and I literally drove right up over her cable box. It was pretty big. Cable still works in case you were wondering.    Oh, and last summer, my husband got a new truck with the back up ALARM system with the giant camera. I am backing up while we are on our annual beach vacation trip (so in my defense I was in a strange driveway) and the camera goes pitch black and the alarm things starts screaming, and I call my husband and ask him “Why is  rear aid back up alert flashing on the screen and why is it beeping extremely loud?’  His response; “YOU ARE ABOUT TO HIT SOMETHING!!!”   Lo and Behold , there was a GIANT PALM TREE about five centimeters away from the bumper. My friends were laughing so hard they could not even stand up.

6) I do not do well on highways either. I get very tense in “trafficky” situations. It’s not that I become a bad driver, I become a nervous, white knuckled driver. I hate the freeway or interstate.  Two funny stories:

a) One time I was with a friend,about 15 years ago , and I switched lanes rather quickly, possibly without using a blinker, because I had not gotten over fast enough due to my tense driving state of affairs.   I KNOW, it was not safe, but I was not intentionally trying to be rude or anything.  (that counts! Gold star for me!!) Immediately after my maneuver,  I looked back and I “thought” all these people were waving and me and I said to my friend , “Do we know all those people behind us?” as I fervently waved my hand out the window and smiled,  and she said “Um no, they are not waving at you, they are giving you the bird”.

b) I drove all the way from Maine to North Carolina with my sister when I went to college.  Several several times, truckers would pass us and give me the “hang loose” or “chill out” sign in response to my panicked, white knuckled “10 & 2” on the steering wheel.

7)  There is nothing I love more that to drink a huge soda (ok I am trying to be healthier so I have been drinking a lot of seltzer water, I NEED fizz) and let out a giant burp. I like to burp.  I feel like it’s cleansing in some ways. Don’t worry I do not do this in public, it’s purely a stay at home mom type of activity.  Drinkin Seltzer and Burpin. Sounds like a country or a rap song. Maybe.  I even try to sound out a word or something like “Excellent”… I know juvenile, but oh so rewarding.

8) I love to over analyze, ok wait, maybe I love to “shallow analyze” and ask insane questions during movies that sometimes have absolutely no connection to what is actually going on during the movie. This is definitely a blog for later but here are a few quick ones,  “Why would she be wearing something like that during an Zombie Apocalypse?”    “Do you think they really really love each other deeply or is it a marriage of convenience?”   “Do you think she makes smoking look sexy? or is that just me?” (don’t worry I am not going to take up was JUST a question). Again, a blog for later.. because I think I should be a movie critic for all those random questions you have in the back of your mind.

9) I am a Messy Perfectionist. I am still trying to determine what that means.  It’s just a crazy way to describe my brain and the way I organize “things”.   I want things to be perfectly organized, put away and Pottery-Barn-worthy-showcased, but my brain simply does not operate in that manner; therefore the best way to describe how are organize things in my house is “Messy perfectionism”.  The level of organization on Pintrest literally makes me want to seek therapy.

10)  I lose chapsticks, lip gloss, hair thingies like there is no tomorrow.  And so does my daughter. So then when it comes time to “clean up and organize my messy perfectionism”, I will have 4359 pins & hair things in my hair, 45 lip balms in my pocket until I can find their messy home. Sometimes they never make it home depending upon what other “messy perfectionism” project I delve into on my journey.

This was a bit longer than I had anticipated but I hope it gives you a chance to laugh a little and thing of a few reasons why it’s okay to stop, smell the roses and not try to be 500000 steps ahead of everyone else, even yourself.










In continuation from the previous post, here is a fabulous email I sent my kid’s dance Director.  I think she has a voo doo doll of me that she jams pins in every time she hears a BING on her phone and it’s an email from the illustrious and  loquacious Scrappie Momma………..


Logan and Laney, is it ok if I drop both of them off at the same time and pick them up at the same time (30 minutes before for laney would be 3:50, for logan would be 4:10 so I was hoping I could drop both them off at 3:50?)

  For Pick up I’m a little confused (this is probably all me)  because  there is a Finale for the 1pm show and for the life of me I can’t find the Finale for the 6pm? or do they all practice that together? or is this a stupid question.  For Pick up,  it looks like they are both in the Finale at 6:05, so should I plan on picking them up around 7? or am I missing something?  Also Logan will be in both shows and both Finales, but Laney will not) Does that change anything?

Sorry I have read it a lot, and I even have coffee in my system, I just want to make sure I have this all marked in my folder and on my calender (s) because last year I kind of messed this all up.




Ouch. That hurt! I think she may have used extra pins this time.

First of all I’m blogging this in the blinding Florida sun, on my phone and do not have immediate access to computer so there will definitely be typos and grammatical tragedies. I know its not an excuse.

We are Florida junkies. Our kids are at the “I MUST be entertained at all costs” stage so we come to Orlando a lot.  Disney. Sea World. Universal.
Lego Land. Apparently I didn’t get the manual for anything, so I decided to pay it forward with a list of rules for Amusement Park frivolity:

1) Bring drinks. Smuggle them in like Heisinburg if you have too.
2) DON’T GO JUNE THROUGH SEPTEMBER. Unless you like being soaked in humidity and scorched by a blinding, hot white heat thats so intense you will wonder if Orlando = Purgatory
3) Don’t eat a stack of protein bars prior to going in attempts to mitigate prolonged hunger because I can’t function hungry. Or “Hangry” as the hipsters coined.
3a) I ate too many protein bars and my stomach was so distended I almost bought a pregnancy test.
4) Don’t cry when your children are crying because of long lines, Purgatory humidity and alien baby stomach. It makes you look weak and it will piss off your spouse. Or family, if you thought it would be fun to go as a giant group.( I’m not going to comment on “giant groups at Disney” . Ill let you think that through as to whether this invokes fun or “lets go here no lets go here no lets go here no I’m hot no I want to see Cinderella no lets eat lets pee lets cry lets sleep”)
5) Don’t put on self tanner before the big trip. No matter what you do, it will literally streak off in the hellish humidity
6) Don’t look cute. As in, don’t flat iron your hair, wear heels or think “oh I just have to wear this ‘adorbs’ ensemble from the Premier Outlets. It will all be ruined within the first hour, and as dumb as I am when it comes to comfortable foot wear, I know enough to wear sneakers to an amusement park. (I did wear pointy heels to walk around NYC, so if you were insulted by #6, less I remind you, I make dumb-ass shoe decisions all the time)
7) Don’t show intense anxiety for death~defying, no wait death~invoking roller coasters

Due to my intense fear and “hell no MY kids are NEVER GOING TO BE TALL OR BIG ENOUGH for that shit” (pictured above..), they are now terrified of all rides. Even the little ones. Yes, my husband blames my ‘outward roller coaster hatred’ for the kids’ intense anxiety at the tea cup Antarctica ride at Sea world. There was a 10 month year old on the ride, and my 9 year old wanted me to hold him in the ride. My husband could not stop shooting intense looks of disdain my way, wondering too, “Did my wife really NOT get the manual when the kids were born?” No. And I rarely babysat either.
8)Don’t argue. Arguing in the humidity is like trying to blow dry your hair in the rain.
9) Plan out bathroom trips or DON’T drink any water and completely dehydrate your family. Being dehydrated seemed easier than schlepping through 780085 mini theme parks (within the one giant park) to pee or know an accident is on its way…which..brings me to #
10) Pack a change of clothes for every age. Even yourself. Even if its a bathing suit. You will be either soaked in humidity, someone will pee on themselves, throw up or something tragic will happen to the CUTE OUTFIT I TOLD YOU NOT TO WEAR
11) Be ready to people watch. I counted 150 daisy duke wearing ladies and lets just say my two piece has more coverage. I ain’t mad at cha, if you got it flaunt it and I think it appeased my husband’s irritation at my incessant belligerence towards my protein~alien~baby~ Sigourney Weaver ~stomach problems.
12) Don’t think the kids will want to go out for Thai food and sushi after 15 hours at an amusement park. SCRATCH that. Dons think anyone will want sushi and Thai food, except for this alien babied-stomach-protein-bar-eating-fool.


Earlier, I had a bad case of good old fashioned, PMS. I walked into my daughter’s room to strip the beds and Little Pony and her diva hustling sisters had a fraternity party with every teeny, tiny, ‘itsy’ ‘bitsy’ figurine known to mankind.  They had infiltrated every square inch of her room. This all happened in a matter of an hour because she had just cleaned her room meeting this one Scrappie Momma’s expectations (which are, “PLEASE FOR the Love of GOD..GET EVERYTHING OFF THE FLOOR OR I’M GETTING A GIANT BAG and sending THEM ALL BACK to SANTA).  Here is a glorious “selfie “of me  eating Ice Milk or NON Milk or Coconut Goat milk some kind of healthy version of  ice cream or non ice cream, with the goal of this  “‘faux’ ice cream” to abate my PMS symptoms versus bagging up all the little ponies and sending them back to the Pony ranch or to Santa or whatever it is you believe they would go if Big Bad Mommy bagged them up and sent them along their way.

ice cream blog

Speaking of  Santa,  “DUDE, WHY DID YOU BUY HER THE MY LITTLE PONY TENT THAT TAKES UP HALF HER ROOM WITH AGE LIMIT OF 3 SO IT GETS BEATEN DOWN BY MY LONG LEGGED DAUGHTER and RAUCOUS little pony fraternity parties , daily.       Obviously, I bought the tent so in case you are all like “oh gasp, that was kind of a tough dis for Santa”, I have only myself to blame for this insidious tent and all its debauchery. However if you still believe in Santa, then I am still mad at Santa and he is the one to blame in this situation.

As for my son’s room, he has a lizard in his room; while at the same time, the sun cascades its blinding, white rays of sizzling heat making it the hottest room in the house (except for the garage, in August)  Due to the fact that I am irritated by this onset of hormones (  I googled the word ‘hormonely’, it does not exist; hence, “onset of hormones” was a replacement for my made of word of ‘hormonely’) Yes that was all extremely necessary and pertinent. My point being,   I knew better to engage in any kind of “why is EVERY LEGO FIGURE FROM HERE TO KINGDOM COME HAVING A  SEANCE TRYING TO CONJURE UP MORGAN FREEMAN FROM THE LEGO MOVIE, HE’S NOT COMING!!!!!!” I was just too damn hot and cranky to deal with Legos and Morgan Freeman apparitions. (if you are like wtf does Morgan Freeman have to do with Legos, please delve into the Lego Movie, it’s a freaking riot).   A caveat to the word “hormonely”, it was not even hot in his room that day, but I was hot; hence you see my point.

Calm, level headed Scrappie, knows that my children’s’ room will never look like a Pottery Barn magazine. (you know, kind of organized, kind of messy but altogether fabulous because even the “mess” is organized, monogrammed and dotted with glorious patterns of tweed and ________________ Paisley?) I do not know my pottery barn schematics very well.  PMS infiltrated DEF com five Scrappie which is agitated by the slightest “imperfection of perfections”. Yes, John Legend’s super model girlfriend would absolutely irritate me when my hormone levels go from ” furrowed MOMMIE dearest brow”  to “OMG, dial up my shrink, something’s terribly wrong, why am I crying so hard?” to “WHO ATE ALL MY DARK CHOCOLATE AND WHY IS THIS ICE CREAM SO FROZEN, HOW LONG SHOULD I PUT IN THE MICROWAVE TO MELT THIS HUNK OF ICE???”.  The synapses in my brain go all haywire. Thankfully I only get this type of PMS every four months, it’s like a quarterly report for my husband who provided a range of opinions from “it’s OK let it all out” (good feedback) to “why are you arguing with a 6 year old” (not so good feedback).  In my PMS mind, arguing with a 6 year old (who acts like a 16 year old) makes COMPLETE LOGICAL AND SANE SENSE.

Fast forward to our Soccer Game, I am still a little torqued up; yet my emotions start to slowly level out and dissipate.  I am enveloped by a sense of calmness as I hear the screaming kids (screams of joy!) pattering throughout the turf fields. My kids are full of vim and vigor and raise their hands wildly to yell out their ideas for the team name. My daughter asks to take a “selfie” with me so she can show the world her lost tooth.  My son offers to play goalie, which makes my heart soar because I drink in the confidence my kids set forth into the world.   Suddenly, little pony mosh pit parties and Legos that paralyze my bare feet into “fall down on the floor holy sh&% wtf did I just step on ” pain, all seems to disappear and the echo of the referees whistle through the woods sounds like harp to my ears.


PS. This blog is meant to be facetious. It is therapeutic outlet for my PMS or whatever feeling that has transcended upon my psyche.  I am not looking for PMS cures or meticulous parenting advice or on how to get my daughter to clean up her my little ponies. Trust me, if I need tips on how to organize rooms, Legos, ponies and twisty ties, or how to parent my children, PINTREST, FACEBOOK and my husband’s aunties have PLENTY of information to assist me with these types of conundrums.    Some people “get” the type of humor I put out there in my blog and on social media  some absolutely do not and see it as a window to shower me with all sorts of remedies for what seems to appear to them as a very problematic life strewn with maladies and bad parenting decisions.  Oh and I do not need to lower the temperature of my sons room either, we good.

To know me is to love me. Or strongly dislike me. I’m like a hot cup of coffee on a hot day. Hence the name Scrappie-Momma.  Where did I get this name from? No, I do not scrap book.  I tried and you want to know how much I completed? One page out of a 500 page book my darling husband bought for me after I declared “Oh Honey I can’t WAIT to stay home with the new baby and scrapbook, cook novella cuisine dinners for you nightly  and who knows maybe I’ll even start gardening or something really domestic.”  You see, I had just signed a generous severance package from a bank I was working at as a Human Resource manager and hubs was a little nervous about what was going to happen after that severance ran out and I was all comfy and cozy with new baby and my fabulous scrap book creations. Clearly we will be able to survive on my crafty “craftmanship” scrapbook creations won’t we?  That story to be told another day..  He said one of the reasons he fell in love with me was because he thought I was going to be a high powered executive in Human Resources. Oops.

Okay, so now you know Scrappie does not come from scrap-booking.  Do you remember the show Friends? Well there was an episode when Phoebe told Monica she was Scrappie or Scrappy (the spell check thingy majiggy keeps saying scrappie is misspelled. whatevs, now this whole sentence is underlined in red..) Anyways, Phoebe told Monica she was Scrappie because Monica “scrapped” her way back in to Phoebes life after Phoebes decided she did not like her! Well that’s kind of me in a nutshell. If I like you and you do not care for my presence, hang around, because I will warm your soul like a hot cup of coffee. You just might need to wait for it to get cold outside (or go into a well air conditioned building) before you actually enjoy my presence.

Today was a typical Scrappie-Momma type of day.  I tend to run about 6-8 minutes behind schedule, I am not usually “late” but because of my ability to navigate this fake,extra-time sequence in to all my clocks, and tell myself “oh I have an extra 6-8 minutes” , I’m usually hurriedly completing easy tasks in a frantic fashion.  For instance, I have thick hair. No thick is an understatement. I have hair that could be used to make a chain link fence. I could shield bullets with my helmet of hair. I have had it thinned and feathered but it just grows back in thicker and I then I have a thick, overgrown mullet.  Ask any hair dresser who has cut my hair they have all exclaimed “DAMN you have a lot of hair,  I didn’t realize how thick your  hair was, wow, we might need a few more minutes with your next appointment.”  OK, maybe they didn’t say Damn, but I can tell from their expression they want to and they also want to charge me more for dulling their scissors with my chain-link metal hair.

My point being, I was running late and I was trying to get 4 big chunky necklaces around my neck (CHUNKY CLUNKY jewels are IN my FRIENDS, and Friends from Friends too.) and they all got caught in the chain-links of my hair. I broke one and managed to get two off, but they are mangled and tangled together sitting on my husbands side of the sink for him to fix , after he gets home from a long trip because that was what he was longing to do, after sitting on a plane, and in Atlanta traffic for five hours.  Seriously, how does one BREAK  a necklace in her hair?  Me. due in part because I have mutant-Ly thick hair and due in part because I built in 6-8 minutes of time that never existed in the first place. Typical Scrappie or Scrappy or Crappy behavior.

I made it to my destination a few minutes late but not absurdly late, and my day started to even out time-wise; however, the rush of adrenaline from fighting with my chain-link-helmet-sheild hair or from the 650 cups of coffee, fueled me into wide-eyed Scrappie Momma mode.  So I pulled out of a parking lot and admittedly even thought I did glance to the right,  I didn’t see the Prius honking it’s horn of justice , no scratch that, laying ON THE HORN for 30 seconds straight,  with I think both middle fingers stuck out the window because I had inadvertently cut him/her off. I could not tell the gender because the face was blocked by the affectionate traffic gestures of love. Maybe I was his/her Valentines?  I’m not, by any means, condoning my driving skills and I want to apologize to the man/women I cut off, It was NOT intentional.  My helmet hair got in the way of my peripherals.

Lastly, I made a stop at TJMAXX Home-Goods because we are re-decorating my sons room and I thought what the heck , they might have some distressed antique /industrial looking furniture that , ok , ok momma really wants and almost tween son could give two shakes of a lamb tale about.  I could bring home old hospital furniture and he’d be like “sup” “looks good moms”.  Anyways as I was frantically taking pictures (and Texting to my husband who was in a car with his boss) of all the AMAZING DEALS on SOLID WOOD vintage-couture-industrial-shabby-chic-antique pieces that now I was kind of salivating because I was thinking “Hey this might look great in the ……..”  I bumped into someone and my Starbucks Soy Latte splashed all over another piece of furniture (do not worry it was not one of the pieces I wanted for my son/living/tea/guest room. Phew.

I am not a person who splashes and doesn’t tell so I did run to the front to alert the very disenchanted staff and management who then proceed to call “Josh” over the paging system:  “WE HAVE A CLEAN UP IN THE BACK. SOME LADY SPILLED HER STARBUCKS.”  Josh and his attending (I’m not kidding, he had an assistant ) came rushing to my assistance. Thankfully , the splash was still “active” and my latte was made with organic soy milk so, like it was  Vegan, Paleo, Atkins, South Beach and Nutrisystem approved  AND  gluten/pesticide free; therefore it did not harm the furniture. Josh, myself and his attending were all very relieved that I did not scar the cute little end table from Morocco.

In closing, the collateral damage and klutzy sins of Scrappie Momma was atoned for.  I said a quick “I’m sorry God I will really try to pay more attention when I am driving and I do have a big ‘no Texting’ sticky note on my dashboard, so please let Jesus know that I do have that sign on my dashboard and I do refer to it quite a bit.”   Although I wasn’t Texting (omg texting isn’t a word yet??, it’s coming up RED as misspelled…) at the time of the Prius-Valentine-Rendevouz- I just hadn’t clipped my helmet back enough.  But no excuses, I will do better.  Finally, an apology to Josh, and his attending for quickly rushing in to clean up the remnants  of my sweet & salty soy latte.  I have to admit , I was in mourning the loss of the rest of my latte because that was the frothiest soy latte I had had in a long time.

Starbucks tomorrow? I promise, I will look both ways before turning out onto the street and I will not bring my frothy delight-fulness into any home goods or boutiques.  Peace and Happy Early Valentines Day!

“40 is the new 30”  I think I read or saw that somewhere.  Maybe Jennifer Anniston said it on the cover of Fabulously Forty. In that case, 40 through 70 is the new 30 if you LIVE IN HOLLYWOOD.  No disrespect to any celebrity that works hard to maintain a youthful glow – I totally get the yearning to have clearer, softer younger skin and not having to actually search for my lip line when applying the latest shintastic glam-slam-dunkalicous goo to my lips.

Just the other day I was rattled out of a semi 1/2 conscious afternoon moment when some dazzling looking 50 year old was screaming, I mean singing “YOU LIGHT UP MY LIFE”.   I was like, “what in the Oz great road of bricks is this all about”.   It was a commercial for life lift, a semi-surgicial procedure in which you get a face lift, but you don’t look like you got a face-lift. You know, very similar to going to get your hair highlighted or low lighted or blown out with chemicals but not so much actually  looking like you spent 6500 hours in the salon chair till your ‘tookus’ went numb all so you can get that naturally “30” looking look.  Beyond that, I’m not 100% sure what the point of screaming this song at the top of her lungs was all about and now I mute or change the channel, because quite frankly the commercial just depresses the heck out of me.

I apologize for my lack of inclusion to the twenty year old population and male gender.  Let’s face it, in your twenties, you aint’ worried about nothing and if you are a man, getting older just means looking more distinguished and they actually sell “salt and pepper” HAIR COLORING???  to get the “mature” look. I warned the twenty year olds already and I do not have a lot of sympathy for the aging male considering their metabolism doesn’t do a kamikaze  dive bomb and they cut out “cheese-itz and beer” and lose 15 lbs in a week.  I have no sympathy for their plight :)

Let’s be clear on what really happens as we venture in to this twilight era of our life.  The half-quarter-way-new-kinda-sorta-mid life crisis, depending upon whatever life expectancy is these days .  Things do not just start to fade, lose gravity, become sallow, less bendier, more crackly – they sprint.   Here’s my all time favorite, you start growing more hair on areas like your chin, your feet  and the hair you currently have on your head or legs becomes coarser and more brittle.  Really?  Is God so much of a comedian that he thinks this is funny?    I remember near my thirtieth birthday it had already started because I was driving my car and my dearest friend grabbed at my chin and said GOT IT.  I was like ” What in the rabbit’s hole of Alice’s wonderland are you doing?” She said “You had a long, dark, curly, straggly, crackly hair coming out of your chin.”   So whatever hormone that pulses through our womanly veins had started to pillage into mine at this young age.

Do you really want to know why I am writing this article, blog, vlog, or clog of words or whatever hipster terminology is out therefor randomly sharing my thoughts with the world via the internet. (OMG OH EM GEE, I sound like a forty year old).   Do you know how or why I got the idea to write about this?  I had just finished inhaling my lunch (another phenomenon that happens with age, my table manners have got down that rabbit hole with alice)…Anyways,   I often go into the parlor after lunch to read. Ok no, I don’t really do that.  I went into the “parlor” or the front room, which I utilize because it has amazing light, no not to read, I would rather squint in the dark to do that activity.  – I go into this room, to pluck my eyebrows.  Yes I use this God-given  natural light to ensure I get every last one of those hairs to create the Victoria’s Secret model arch on my brow.

Okay, again, I stretch the truth.  I  occasionally get my brows waxed, and I KNOW these ladies are smirking and talking about me in hushed tones in the back corridor. They come back with their long strip of wax dripping in their gloved hands as I squirm and reel back a little knowing the pain about to be inflicted on my amazing arch and tell me directly  that I really, truly need to stop  plucking my own eyebrows.

I cannot tell a lie, the other reason I use that room is to pluck the dark hairs that appear on my feet the morning of my fortieth birthday.  I’m not getting my feet waxed. Yes, Ill share the fact that I have man-feet with the world, but I will not allow wax to be applied to my varicose “veiny” , bony feet.  Oh yes, that’s another fantastic phenomenon that comes with age.   A more translucent , Robert Pattin son-eque skin tone, that allows the bubbly , inflamed vein of our yesteryear to debut it’s vampire-ish elegance.

And I shall end with the notion that every time you told yourself as a teen or a twenty year old “Hey it’s okay if I lie out today without any sunscreen” or “hey , it’s after 2:00, baby oil should be a safe barrier from the sun”.     You will be happily welcome what I call “oh great I have freckles now, and they aren’t cute like the girl in the Gap commercial”. They don’t cascade around your nose into cheeks and give you that  Emma Stone  adorableness. (seriously could she be any more adorable..) They are a misshapen-pea to Lima-bean shaped in size and they are the color of what you can imagine to be called “drab-khaki” in a paint store. Oh and what’s really great, if they become raised or “crusty”, you have to get them laser-ed or aqua-net freeze-dried off and biopsied at the dermatologist office for cancer! Yipee!! So fun! I have had that done a few times and it’s like a manicure ON YOUR FACE.   It’s different for everyone, depending upon their skin tone, but whatever skin-tone or color you don’t want, that’s the color of the sunspot you will have for every. time. you. “forgot” sunscreen.

If you were twenty, and you read this. I warned you.