Dude looks like a lady.

It was a normal Saturday night, really. A small group of neighbors and friends gathered to celebrate a surprise birthday for oh, let’s just call her Chrissy.

While Chrissy ate dinner with her spouse, the preparations began.

The mascara wands whipped out, panty hose pulled on (with the fun prints!), party dresses went over heads and accessories pulled the final look together. Oh, the hair. There were no mom buns or yoga pants because this is Chrissy’s party and Chrissy isn’t that kind of woman. Chrissy is not a plain woman. Oh no, Chrissy is extravagant and her friends were extravagant with her.

The hair was let down. Perfume sprayed. Cleavage up. Nails dry.

And out the door.


Did you know my husband wears a size large maternity dress from Target?

Surprise, Chrissy! 



It was an evening with girlfriends. The men in our lives – gone, tucked away for the night. The real women, with soft skin and curvier hips, watched as the newfound women discovered their female identity.

I can’t write better than the words that came from the pretty mouths of men.

“Hey, do you think I need to touch up my number 5 lipstick while I’m in the bathroom? Will someone go with me?”

“Has anyone sat down to pee yet? It’s…it’s different.”

“My feet are killing me. These heels.”

“Did this wig come with lice? Do you always feel this hot behind your neck?”

“Are you still tucking back?”

“My wife doesn’t let me motorboat her. Will you let me? I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“Nip slip! Whoops!”

“Hi, my name is Scotti-with-an-i. Heart dot.” — “Hi, I’m Jamie.”

“You want to go to a Chicago Cubs game if they go to the World Series?” — “Might be expensive. Oh, they’ll pay for us to go if we give them a good lay.” (hand wave at wives)

“Let’s bring Chrissy to the Cubs game. She’ll score us free tickets in somehow.”

“Oh shoot. Forgot my purse at home. Guess someone needs to buy me a drink!”

“Can I have something fruity with vodka?”

“Oh my God! You can’t even taste the vodka in this!”

“I think we all agree that Ty looks the hottest. Hey, Ty! You’re going to be sore in the morning.”

“Did you have any idea how hot your husband looks tonight?”

“Ty’s so pretty. I’m kinda jealous of her now.”

“If Zeus was a lesbian, that is exactly what he’d look like. Kristy, the Roman Goddess, or something.”

“Oh no! I think I lost a nail! Has anyone seen my nail?”

“Metallic nail polish is in right now.”

“Look at this gown! And who are you wearing tonight?” — “The whole football team.”

“Jamie really brought tampons in her purse! What else you have in here?”

“Help me insert this tampon. Please.”

“Well, I can’t go back to the babysitter now. She didn’t see me leave the house. I can’t let her know I look hotter than she does right now.” (hair flip)

“I’m sorry, I can’t give you a hug goodbye. I’ve seen your penis too many times.”

“Ha! Her patty hose ripped. That sucks.” — “Did you know you can fix that with clear nail polish?”

“You need more number 5 lipstick. Have you heard of the number 5?” — “Of course I do! I watched my mom put on the number 5 growing up.”

“Cubbies grand slam! Yay!” (clapping and jumping)

“I’m so flat chested. This sucks. Your boobs look so perky, how did you do that? — “Shhh. It’s a nursing bra.”

“Let’s get Brazilians!”

“Can I see your phone?” — “Sure!” (pulls out phone from bra)

They say you’re supposed to walk a mile in someone else’s shoe before you judge them. These men walked in their wives’ shoes, bras, and necklaces for a night. And they were painful shoes.

They did it for the laughs and for the love.

It was a normal Saturday night, really. Happy Birthday, Chrissy. To many, many more.


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This is all I have to give you.

There’s nothing here to read.

I don’t have anything to write about. Well, no, that’s not true. I have things to write about but nothing sounds good. It’s like picking out a place to eat. I’m sick of Mexican food. I’m sick of salads. And I’m sick of all this political nonsense. It’s leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

Let’s see, what do I have to offer my guests here on the ‘ole Bug Bytes…

How about a glass of ice water and some screenshots? Pony up, let’s go.



And that’s how Kate got the Gif app taken off her iPod.



Oh, the Gif App. How I love you so.




Kate still has the angry emojis. 



And now Kate figured out how to use google to prove to me she shouldn’t have to eat hot lunches. 



I just wanted to see the baby.



Ok, she does look like me. And I have that dress. No sh*ts given.



That hair though.



Look at her butt.



It must be tough to navigate this world with a wiener.



Kate owns us all.


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Oh Emma, Oh Kate.

Oh Emma, Oh Kate is a series of funny things my kids say. Emma is 10 and Kate is 7. 


The girls had some friends over. They were collecting rolly pollies in a bowl in our backyard.

Kate: This one is totally a boy. Look at that little thing dragging.


Me: Girls! Good song! Jack and Diane. Do you know who sings this song?

Emma: No.

Me: John Mellencamp. But his name used to be John Cougar.

Emma: What? People can change their name?

Me: Yes, but I’m not sure if it was a real name change or if it’s a stage name because he’s a singer. But yes, you can change your name if you want. It’s probably a pain.

Emma: So I can change my name?

Me: I’m sure when you’re 18 or something, if you wanted to change your legal name, you can.

Emma: So I can change it to Kate PicksHerNose Burton?


I dropped the girls off at school in the morning.

Me: Emma, don’t forget I’m pulling you out of school early for your orthodontist appointment.

Emma: Ok.

Kate: WHAT?!

Me: Knock it off, Kate. She has a doctor’s appointment.

Kate: (Slams door. Stomps on sidewalk. Turns around and glares at me as I drive away, sticks tongue out at me)


Me: Kate, do you want to hold William? (The girls’ newest baby cousin)

Kate: I already held him once, a long time ago.


Me: Kate, your bruise on your eye looks like it hurts.

Kate: Nah, only when I blink.


I painted the girls’ toenails.

Me: Kate, you have your daddy’s toes.

Kate: Good.


Me: Oh, Emma. I think your sports bra shrunk?

Kate: I’ll take it!

Me: You don’t need a sports bra.


Emma: MOM! Kate is raising her eyebrows at herself in the mirror and she’s only wearing a sports bra!


In the car.

Me: Girls, daddy said to meet us out for dinner. Where do you want to go?

Emma: Not anywhere with food. My stomach hurts.


Kate: So when we going to Costa Rica?

Scott: What? Who told you anything about Costa Rica?

Kate: No one. Just sounds fun. Can we go?


In the car.

Me: UGH! Girls! Rule number one when you drive: don’t be a slow driver. People will yell at you TO HURRY UP! FASTER, CAR! This is so dangerous. They are so dangerous, girls. WHO DRIVES 50 MILES PER HOUR ON A HIGHWAY!

Kate: Are you telling us you want us to drive with a lead foot?


Me: Kate, will you feed the dogs?

Kate: Emma needs to learn how to be responsible.


Kate: Mom, I accidentally brought my iPod to school.

Me: Uh oh. Did you keep it in your backpack?

Kate: Yeah, I just kept it in there since we’re not allowed to have them.

Me: Oh, ok. Good.

Kate: But then we were taking a test and it was all quiet and my Crossy Road game beeped at me to start playing Crossy Road. And I was like, “uh, hope no one heard my Crossy Road in my backpack.”


The girls baked Scott a cookie cake before he arrived home from Colorado.

Emma: I’ll put on frosting.

Kate: And then we’ll save it for Sunday, when gets back. We can eat it after Daddy see it.

Emma: Well, Kate. Maybe we can take a picture of it and start eating it tonight.

Kate: And maybe save him one slice? Yeah, let’s do that. Take a picture, Mom.



It was the weekend Scott was in Colorado. I was watching a movie in my bedroom on a Friday night. The girls asked if they could hang out with friends on our front patio with the lights on. I told them it was ok with me. I heard Kate rummaging around the kitchen. The front door opened.

Kate: COCKTAILS! (slams door)

I ran out to the front patio. Kate has a tray of drinks.

Kate: Crushed or cubed?

Me: What are doing?

Kate: Handing out waters.


Emma: Mom, can Kate and I ride our bikes to the pond?

Me: I guess. But watch for cars. Stop every time you cross the road and look both ways. Ok?

Emma: Got it.

The girls come home after about 45 minutes.

Me: Did you have fun? Wait, Kate where are your shoes?

Kate: Ha! Well, that’s funny. I didn’t even notice they were gone. I guess I forgot my shoes at the pond.


Scott: Did you put on makeup?

Kate: Yes.

Me: It actually looks really good. Did one of your friends do it?

Kate: I did it.

Me: Really? It’s sorta amazing.

Kate: I’ve spent years watching you, Mom.


Kate: These raspberries need something. Hmmmm, lime zest. Yes.

Me: Lime zest? Who uses lime zest?

Emma: Mom, she watches Food Network now. She thinks she’s on a show.


Kate: When I get a car, I’m getting a Jeep.

Me: I can totally see you in a freaking Jeep.

Emma: What about me, mom?

Me: Cute, little two-door sportscar. That’s what I drove in college.

Emma: That sounds way warmer in the winter than a Jeep.

Me: You can put the cover back on a Jeep. It’s not open all the time.

Kate: Or just keep cover off, keep doors off and me wearing a winter coat when I drive.


Scott: Uh, Kate just saw me in my underwear.

Me: So?

Scott: And she said “really, dad? Poking out? My friends are here.”

Me: Was it poking out?

Scott: No! Just normal, protruding I guess.


Special Edition: Oh Kids.

My niece, Gabby (4), was at my house.

Gabby: Why does Emma have braces?

Me: To straighten her teeth.

Gabby: Oh, were they curly?


Our friend, Hunter, came over to help Scott plant a tree. He brought his daughter, Mikaela (3).

Mikaela: What’s your name?

Me: You know my name! Julie.

Mikaela: I don’t think I like that name.

Me: Me either.

Mikaela: What’s Scott’s name?


Mikaela: What are you doing, Julie?

Me: Talking to your dad and Scott out my window. See them?

Mikaela: I don’t really care what my dad says.


Mikaela: What are you going?

Me: Now I’m doing laundry.

Mikaela: My dad never does this.


Kid, 4: Does “playground” start with “ice cream”?


The family dog was pooping in the backyard.

Kid, 6: I sure hope a mole doesn’t go up his butthole.


Kid, 6: Hey mom! Did you know Abraham Lincoln would have lived longer if he hadn’t gotten shot in the head?


Kid, 20 months: (grabs his mom’s boob) Ooo! Ball!


Kid, 4: If mom and dad die, will Mamaw and Papaw take care of us?

Kid, 5: Uh, no. Thor and Elsa will.


Kid, 4: (smacks little brother on the arm)

Dad: Why did you do that?

Kid, 4: Satan made me do it.


Are your kids hilarious? Of course they are!

If you have any kid sayings that you would like to see here, please email me at:

Or friend me on Facebook and I’ll pull quotes from statuses. You and your child’s name will be kept anonymous.


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Dear Scott, part 2.

Dear Scott,

By the time you read this, you made your way down a mountain.


Welcome home! You’re alive!

You have stories to tell, of course. You have real mountain man stories to tell around suburbia’s fire pit of cushioned chairs and small decorative pillows. You found a handgun on a trail in the wilderness. You returned to camp greeted by two sets of eyes staring at you. The scratches on your face are from walking into trees in a pitch black downpour. Lightening cracked and exploded trees in front of your eyes. Temperatures dropped to below freezing. You only had a small fire to dry out your cold, soaking clothes. The earth shook below your feet when an elk bugled nearby.

While you lost the battle to bring home an elk, you still lived to tell the tales of your stay under the care of mother nature.

Oh, I have tales too.

I don’t want you to miss out on our adventures. Like how the dog’s antibiotics disappeared one morning. I figured I’d come across it at some point. I did. It was busted open in the backyard. For every pill that was missing, a diarrhea pile was in its place.

Or how Kate put my back against a wall and insisted on shaving her legs. Scott, she chased me around the house with a razor, screaming, “look at my hairy legs!”

But those are mere bedtime stories. I can handle being a solo parent. I reign when you’re away. I reign when you’re home too.

Scott, sit down. I have story for you. It involves my poor decision-making skills. You were indeed heroic in your efforts to provide the family with meat. You faced a hell most people would never attempt. I faced a hell too and I need a hug.

It all begins on your first night on the mountain.

While you were trying to figure out how to hang food in a tree and rub two sticks together to make fire, I was standing in our kitchen. I debated whether to treat my solo parent self to ice cream or wine. And do you know what I picked? Of course you do because you’ve been sleeping with me for 12-13-14 years now. Ice cream, of course.

And all mothers around the world gasp.

On that first night, the stars were 11,000 feet closer than you’ve ever seen them. You saw a sight that’s rarely photographed well. Mother Nature is a beautiful woman, Scott. And you of all people know behind every beautiful woman, there is a little bit of psycho.

You struggled to breathe. The hike up left you aching. The temperature dropped to below freezing that night. You didn’t sleep much because the cold made its way into your sleeping bag. Cuddling with Hunter for warmth wasn’t an option because you would never hear the end of the *Brokeback Mountain* coughing from me when you got home. The only thing on your mind that kept you going was your prize – a bull elk.

11,000 feet down and 842 miles to the east, I sprawled out in the middle of our king size bed with a small dish of my favorite ice cream, Baskin-Robbins mint chocolate chip. I was rounding up the last scoop when I felt it – crunch.

Well, that’s a big chocolate chip. 

Crunch. It wasn’t chocolate. It was poor decision-making.

My tongue pushed the hard piece forward and my fingers pulled it out. I examined it under my bedside lamp.


It can’t be. But it is.

A fingernail.

The fingernail most likely belonging to a member of that sweet, Middle Eastern family that owns the Baskin-Robbins. I mean, other than in between my molars, I don’t know where this fingernail has been. They probably scrubbed shampoo onto their head with this fingernail. Or stroked their spouses back. Or stroked their spouses oh God. Or maybe it was the teenager. Maybe the teen picked a huge booger with this nail. Maybe they put in contacts that morning or popped a zit. Everything this person touched was in my mouth, ground down with my back molars and touched by my tongue.

There is no doubt this fingernail wiped its own ass, Scott. Everyone wipes their own ass. A member from the sweet, Middle Eastern family’s ass was inside my moist mouth – oh yes, I said moist.

I learned an important lesson while you were sleeping on a mountain, Scott.

Wine doesn’t have fingernails.




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Dear Scott, part 1.

Dear Scott,

Here we are. Day 4 into your wild backpacking adventure in Colorado. I wonder if you found your prized bull elk yet. I can’t wait to watch you provide for our family by filling our freezer with elk meat. Also, an Instagram picture for you to reminisce with our future grandchildren.  I already have so much to tell you when you come down to the real world with wifi, cell signals, and my honey-do list.

But don’t worry about that. That’s part 2.

This is part 1.

We’re fine, Scott. We’re fine. 96 hours of single parenting later, I am a completely sane individual.


I can’t complain, really. The kids are at school for seven hours a day during the week.


It’s not hard. I drive to the school. I drive from the school. I drive to the school. I drive from the school.


I have the dogs to entertain me during the day.


And I found a good book to keep me company at night.


I hope you and Hunter are on speaking terms since you two are stuck with each other for a good 10 days. I hope you’re healthy and drinking enough water. Is your pee clear, Scott? That’s important.


The weekend was hectic. I had to entertain the children all day. We all know I’m not the “fun” parent. I made them watch football all weekend. To catch you up – FSU lost, North Dakota State beat Iowa, and K-State won huge. It was like watching the ‘ole glory days in Manhattan, Kansas. Our house waved that flag with such pride.


The Kansas City Chiefs had turnover problems. They lost. This killed me, Scott. Killed me.


With all the estrogen flaring up and screaming at each other, you don’t need to worry about anyone breaking in at night. This house sits all night locked and loaded.


Thank you so much for the flowers you secretly sent us before you left! I was shocked when the flower lady stopped by! I mean, I’m right when I say you ordered them before you left because you can’t send flowers from a mountain with no cell phone service. I just hope you’re not dead from falling off a cliff or something because then these flowers would be extra creepy because they’re flowers sent from the grave.


So anyway, don’t worry about us. We’re fine. It’s day 4 out of 10. I’m 40% all there. 144 hours to go. I can’t imagine anything dramatic happening to me, our two daughters, two female dogs (who are complete bitches, by the way), and a female cat.

See you on part 2.

XOXO. Your wifey,



Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram. The skeleton loves Instagram stories.


National Geographic Kids – Weird But True.

Meet Charlie.


Hey, Charlie.

Oh! And Kirby, Charlie’s sister.


Hey, Kirby.

They are the hosts of the new National Geographic Kids TV show, Weird But True! The show is based off the National Geographic Kids books, Weird But True! (Your kids know what I’m talking about.) And the books are based off the National Geographic Kids magazine section, Weird But True! (Your kids, your kids’ teachers, and your kids’ friends all know what I’m talking about.)

And now you are going to know what I’m talking about.

I am a 2016-2017 ambassador for National Geographic Kids. What does that mean? I’m here to tell you fine people and your fine kids what is going on behind the curtain at the National Geographic Kids headquarters in Washington, D.C.

And really, when National Geographic Kids invited me to write about dragon bones, belly button lint, and beefalo, I couldn’t say no.




I googled the beefalo. It’s real. I googled it because I didn’t believe National Geographic Kids “weird but true” fact and now Scott has a new animal to hunt. Stop it, Peta. I’m kidding.

Back to Charlie and Kirby.

Charlie and Kirby Engelman are the hosts of Weird But True!, a new syndicated TV show airing Saturday mornings on Fox. I had the opportunity to interview Charlie on the phone this week. The siblings landed the National Geographic Kids Weird But True! gig by – get this – mostly cutting and pasting. Weird but true.

They cut and paste pictures to help explain how weird our world is. Look behind them. Cut and paste, kids. Cut and paste. This Saturday’s episode is about extreme weather – tornado chasing.


Photo credit: National Geographic Channels/Jill Littman

Ah, they speak to me. They are in my backyard chasing Kansas tornados.


Charlie and Kirby pose atop the “Doppler on Wheels”. (Photo credit: National Geographic Channels/Jill Littman)

Just kidding, they’re in Colorado.

Set the DVR! Saturday mornings (but not too early) on Fox. Scramble up some eggs, sit back, and tell your kids, “Weird but true – did you know Charlie and Kirby’s “studio” is filmed from their parent’s basement in Chicago?”

I told you I’m behind the scenes. 

** Kansas City – Fox 4, WDAF at 10:30 am. Every Saturday. For the rest of you – check your local stations.


Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram. Stay tuned for more curtain pulling at National Geographic Kids.



Something terrifying.

No previous surgeries. No medications. No medical conditions. No known drug allergies. No known allergies.

No known allergies. NKA in shorthand speak. NKA will never be written on Kate’s charts again.

I am a humor writer but this is not a funny post. It’s a terrifying one.

“Your daughter’s next exposure to shellfish could be fatal.”

Your daughter. Fatal. The words slapped me in the face. Kate is at school now. She’s walking on a tightrope with no net under her. Or maybe she’s an acrobat on a swing with no net.

Kate is one bite away from anaphylaxis. Kate could fall.

It took one weekend to become that mom. It took two rolls of sushi on two different days. California rolls to be exact, with crab. I became the mom that reads food labels and questions waiters. I became the mom living with a desperate fear in the back of my mind and I’m not sure if it will ever go away. I am the mom that will be hovering within a few miles from the school. I will be the mom with a very expensive EpiPen in my purse. I will be the mom whose heart stops every time the school calls.

Shellfish is one of the easier foods to avoid. It’s rarely hidden. In fact, Emma and Kate have lived their entire lives without crab or shrimp or lobster – until this weekend. It may be one of the easier foods to avoid but now it’s deadly.

The hives appeared first. We didn’t know what caused them. It could have been anything, really. Maybe her sheets haven’t been washed for awhile or maybe there was something outside that bothered her skin. It could have been a virus. The hives faded.

Kate ate a sushi roll with crab for the second time in a week. Kate loves sushi and she found a new love with crab sushi. Within the hour, Kate’s hives came back and they worsened. Her face swelled. Her hands and feet swelled. She said her throat hurt. Her breathing was ok. We kept Benadryl in her every four hours. At 2 am, with Kate scratching her body in her sleep beside me, it clicked. The crab.

Parties, restaurants, dinners, every meal Kate ate in her seven years flashed through my mind. I couldn’t think of a time she ate shellfish. She’s never eaten lobster. “Gross, it looks like a big bug!” She’s never eaten shrimp. “Ew! I’m not eating that! There’s poop in that!” She’s never eaten crab.

The crab. She shouldn’t have eaten the crab. She should have said “no, I’m not eating that!” She should have rescued the crab like Ariel, the Little Mermaid.

The next morning, there was swelling but she looked better. Her hives started to fade then come back then fade again. Eventually the swelling disappeared. She appeared normal when she walked in the school this morning. She was happy.

I emailed the school nurse and Kate’s teacher. I called Kate’s pediatrician. I explained what happened. Even though we controlled her hives and swelling with medicine and she “got over it,” my mom instinct nagged me. Scott still wondered if it was a virus.

It wasn’t a virus. No. I made that baby in my body and I can feel it kicking. It’s kicking hard and I can’t ignore it. Something is wrong with her. She’s not ok.

Every medical professional I spoke to told me the same thing – 

“Your daughter’s next exposure to shellfish could be fatal.”


Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram. I am that mom screaming to the world that my child has a severe food allergy.


Oh Emma, Oh Kate.

Oh Emma, Oh Kate is a series of funny things my kids say. Emma is 10 and Kate is 7. 


Me: Girls! I got an email from your new teachers with the class list!

Emma: Let me see that! YES! I got the teacher that lets us chew gum!

Kate: Ugh. The boy who has a crush on me is in my class again.


Emma: Look at that sunbeam! Pretty!

Kate: Can you imagine if that were over our house? I’d be like “woo-hoo! Disco par-taaaay”


Kate: Will you help me pull on my swimsuit?

Me: Sure.

Kate: I can’t be showing my little boobies with my little nipples. They’re so tiny! Ugh.


Kate: I haven’t coughed in a long time.


Me: Do you girls want hot lunch tomorrow? It’s walking tacos.

Emma: What’s that?

Me: You know, a Fritos bag with taco meat, lettuce, cheese….

Kate: Don’t you know by now that I hate cheese? COLD LUNCH.


Me: Scott, will you make their cold lunches? I’m already sick of it.

Scott: Tell them they need to eat hot lunch then. You’re the parent.

Me: Oh, ok. You tell them that, parent.


Emma and Kate: Yeah, dad?

Scott: You’re having hot lunch tomorrow.

Kate: NO!


Kate: (rolling on the floor, pulling her hair) I HATE HOT LUNCH! I’M THE LAST ONE TO EAT AND I’LL STARVE TO DEATH. IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, DADDY!

Scott: Fine, I’ll make you cold lunch.


Nana: Grandma couldn’t come out to eat with us because her legs hurt her today.

Kate: She must be growing.


Kate is struggling in math. She failed her timed addition/subtraction test twice.

Me: Kate, I know you don’t have homework but we need to practice math flashcards.

Kate: Why? I don’t have a test tomorrow.


Scott, the kids, and I were playing a family board game. One person holds up a card with a word on their forehead. The family acts out the word while the person tries to guess what the word is. Scott held up “popping champagne.”

Me: Oh! Ok. (I act like I’m holding a champagne bottle cork and I make an exploding sound and point to the cork flying)

Scott: I don’t know? A bomb? What are you doing?

Emma: I got it. (Squats on the floor, makes a fart noise with her mouth. Then she makes a “Oo-Oo-Ah-Ah” monkey noise)

Scott: Times up. What are you guys doing?

Emma: Pooping chimpanzee!

Me: EMMA! It’s popping champagne, not pooping chimpanzee!!

Emma: Oh.


Emma: Kate! What are you wearing? You’re wearing mom’s big emerald earrings to your yearbook picture? Those are WAY too big.

Kate: Gotta deal with it, Emma.


I brought the girls home from school. Kate had to wear purple and Emma had to wear orange for a school picture.

Me: Emma, why did you change your shirt so fast?

Emma: I don’t like wearing an orange shirt with blue shorts. I feel like people think I’m a Broncos fan.


Kate: Mom, would you rather eat the worst food in the world or tell me all the answers to my math test?


Emma: Can we go to Dairy Queen?

Scott: Why Dairy Queen when Sweet Caroline’s has better ice cream?

Emma: Two reasons. One, Kate hates Dairy Queen. Two, I love Dairy Queen.


The girls were getting ready to go to the movies with their Nana and Papa.

Me: Do you want a light jacket?

Kate: Huh? Why?

Me: Sometimes it gets cold in movie theaters.

Kate: Oh. Nah. I’ll just sit on Nana’s lap. She’s always warm.


Later that evening,

Scott: Did you guys like the movie?

Nana: Yeah, I liked it.

Emma: I liked it too.

Papa: It was a good movie!

Kate: Ha! Papa. I forgot you went with us.


Kate: When is Penny’s birthday? (Penny is Kate’s rescue cat)

Me: Um, I think they guessed November of 2013.

Kate: I say November 4th.

Me: What about November 1st?

Kate: November 4th is her golden birthday this year and she’ll get double the presents.

Me: Oh, I didn’t know we’re supposed to get her presents.

Kate: She would like cat nip and cat toys.


Kate: 11 more years until I get my tattoo! YAY!


Text message to Emma: Hey Emma, you two need to brush your teeth and floss. No snacks but you can have water. Dad will be here at 9:30 to kiss you goodnight.

Text message from Emma: Ok, I texted Kate. I said hurry up and brush your teeth butthead. No snacks but you can have water. Move your butt off the couch and do as ME and MOM said!! Go! Guess what she texted back with?

Me: What?

Emma: Who cares. (smiley face)


Emma: I know right, such a butthead.


I took Kate out for sushi while Emma hunted with Scott.

Me: You want to just eat at the bar?

Kate: Sure. I love sitting at the bar. So much quicker.

Bartender: Can you get you ladies something to drink?

Me: I think I’ll have…

Kate: Shirley Temple. Extra cherry sauce.


Kate: Can we get sushi?

Me: No, we had sushi last night.

Kate: Please?

Me: No. How are you still hungry. We just ate.

Kate: (walks outside. Ten minutes later, she pokes her head in the door) I called Nana! Nana is taking me to get sushi! Waiting outside! Bye, mom!


We were at our neighbors’ house, hanging out around the fire pit. I walked inside the house to check on the girls.

Me: You guys ok down here? Kate you look tired.

Kate: (bloodshot eyes) Mom, I think I drank the wrong Sprite. I think I had adult Sprite.

Me: WHAT. KATE. I’m going to get you some water and you are ONLY to drink this water. Do not pick up anyone’s drink.

(I walk outside and tell Scott what happened)

The next morning.

Scott: I heard you drank adult Sprite last night. Did you like it?

Kate: (shrugs shoulders) It wasn’t bad.


Special Edition: Oh Kids.

Kid: Mom, can you please throw my baby sister away?


Son: Mom, how do you know everyone in town?

Mom: What do you mean?

Son: When we’re driving you talk to people like Mr. Asshole in the truck and Miss Cadillac in her fancy car.


A Budweiser commercial appeared on TV.

Son: Butt-weiser? Hey mom!

Mom: Yes?

Son: I know why I scratch my butt a lot. Because a mosquito bit my butt.


A mom tucked her 5-year-old daughter into bed. She sang Big Bang Theory’s “soft kitty” and kissed her daughter on the face. Her daughter reached up and squeezed her boob.

Mom: (laughing) What are you doing?

Daughter: What is that big black thing? (The mom was wearing a black shirt and the lights were dim, making a shadow on her boobs)

Mom: It’s my boob. (she leaned toward the light to show her)

Daughter: Why are they so fat?

Mom: (laughing) When you get older, they get bigger.

The next day…

Daughter (to her mom’s male cousin): Did you know my mom’s boobs are really fat?


Grandma (to 10-year-old granddaughter): Can you hold my hand to cross the street or is that not cool?

Granddaughter: It’s ok. I don’t know anybody in this town.


2-year-old: Pentagon, pentagon.

Mom: Do you see a pentagon? Do you know how many sides a pentagon has?

2-year-old: Two eyes.


Daughter: Did you know that when babies are born, they have a long cord thingy sticking out of their belly button?

Mom: Yes, they do.

Daughter: That’s how the baby eats. Did you know that?

Me: Yes, do you know what that long cord thingy is called?

Daughter: Neutering.


Are your kids hilarious? Of course they are!

If you have any kid sayings that you would like to see here, please email me at:

Or friend me on Facebook and I’ll pull quotes from statuses. You and your child’s name will be kept anonymous.


Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram


Something substantial.

It’s Monday night. That means it’s story time.

This is a continuation from the previous post. You don’t need to read the previous post to know what I’m talking about. This isn’t like a sequel to a movie. I would never make you go back and re-read something because then I’ll lose you.

Stay here. Put your feet up. Grab some wine. This is story time.

Ok, you can let down your hair too.

That’s what I’m going to talk about. Hair. My something substantial, my something of considerable size, is the hair on my head.

My hair and I have a sad and pathetic history. My hair, for the majority of my life, was the cause of humiliation, groundings, a streak of playing wingman for my hot friends, and a disappointed husband.

I am a child of the 80s. I had bangs. This is not anything traumatic because everyone had bangs. Square after square in the elementary yearbooks produced no foreheads. One year, my hair one-upped everyone else. I had short hair in the front and long hair in the back. Together. Short hair and long hair together on my head. I had a mullet.

I hated it.

In middle school, my friend bleached a chunk of hair on the back of my head. I wanted a blonde streak in the back when I pulled my hair up in a high ponytail. It ended up looking like, “peanut butter! She let her friend dye her hair and it looks like peanut butter smeared on the back of her head! I don’t know what to do with her, Tom! She can’t go to school like this!” my mom screamed over the phone.

I hated it.

Summer of 2000. I permed my hair before I left for college. Let me say that again – I permed my hair before I left for college. I am the final person to get a perm in the history of perms and then I went to college. I was the wingman that smelled like rotten-egg perm hair at frat parties.

I hated it.

I chopped my hair off after our wedding. I chopped it off again after I gave birth to Emma. I chopped it off again right before I gave birth to Kate because I knew I wouldn’t have time to chop it off with a newborn and a 3-year-old. Even though shorter hair is easier to care for, Scott fell out of love with me a little less with each chop. “You just look better with long hair.”

I hated it.

I made bad hair decisions.

I didn’t know how to control the beast on my head. I prayed my daughters wouldn’t get my hair. They didn’t. Emma has curly hair with sun-kissed highlights (that I wish I had) and Kate has silky straight blonde hair (that I also wish I had.)

I have ponytail-holder busting, thick hair. Clips won’t hold it up. I had 92 bobby pins in my hair on my wedding day. Most hats are too small for my head because I have a good two inches of hair cushioning my scalp. I cringe at the word “volume” on any hair product. Men with receding hair lines stare at me with envy. Probably.

And now the beast is framing my face with silver. When I pull my hair back tight, I glimpse at grandma-me in the mirror. I chase Scott around the house and ask if he loves his future wife. His answer is always a horrified yes.


34 years of bad hair has taught me that you don’t tame a beast. You feed it. You accept what is yours. My parents, my peers, the men in my life – they don’t get to tell me about a bad hair day. Bad hair is my own decision. I have a full head of hair that will never need help “volumizing.” I have hair that will curl and stay curled without hair spray. 

My hair is wild and untamed. It feeds on humidity. It only knows how to grow bigger. After years of self-loathing, maybe it taught me to grow too. My hair is my something substantial.

No one let me get a perm.


Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram. I am still doing the Somethingist challenge on Instagram. Check it out – I have video of wild horses running away from my mane.

Do you love your hair or do you hate it?


Something unfinished.

I do not know her personally.

Or maybe I do know her personally but in the same way many others know her personally. After reading a writer’s thoughts for a long period of time, it can feel personal. It’s more accurate to say we have never met face-to-face.

Her name is Ra.

She is an incredibly gifted writer, one of the greats I can’t compare myself to. No, really. If you spend a few minutes on her blog or read her book, she’ll easily pull you in. Her life story is a fascinating one but I’m only giving you a tiny part of it.

A few years ago, her husband tried to get her interested in Instagram by giving her a 30-day list of “somethings” to post. Something fragile, something shocking, something terrifying, something lucky, something obvious, something far, something near…

Tragedy struck.

Ra’s husband died. Ra is a young widow. She found her late husband’s 30-day list and is taking his challenge. She welcomed others to join too. I will post it all to my Instagram. If I can, I will write about each one too because I love a good writing challenge.

Writing is my Olympics.

Read the 30-day list here.

Day 1: Something unfinished.

I could make this one easy and tangible. I never finished the Game of Thrones books because the TV show is better. A year after moving, Scott’s home office is still unpacked with boxes scattered on the floor. And I still need to install a toilet paper roll in Emma and Kate’s bathroom. Once the butt-wiping days disappeared, I didn’t even give them a decent toilet roll set-up.

I’m not going to write about those things.

Continuing education is my “something unfinished.” This may sound odd to some because  I have a Bachelor of Arts degree from Kansas State. Class of 2004.


I was 22 years old. A baby. A mere one year into walking out of a liquor store with a bottle of cheap whiskey. I mean, legally speaking.

Did I know what I wanted to do with my bachelor’s degree and cheap bottle of whiskey? No. I was 3 years deep in a state of panic over deciding a major. I wasn’t good at anything. I was a 3.2 average student with no desire but to just pass class. 

I couldn’t decide.

Education degree? No. Kids can sense apprehensiveness and they would destroy me immediately.

Medical degree? I’m squirming and trying to hold down chunks at the thought of it.

Chemistry degree? Kansas State University can thank me for not choosing a chemistry degree because I’d probably blow up one of their buildings and my lifeless body would be wheeled out live on CNN.

Business? My negotiation skills at a garage sale can be summed up by my “it’s all free” sign in my driveway.

Math degree? Yeah, I don’t speak Chinese.

Art degree? Wait, did you say I need a portfolio from high school? No one told me that.

Journalism? Fine, I’ll do it. I read the newspaper.

A journalism degree. A Bachelor of Arts degree: Mass communications with an emphasis in advertising. Technically.

Marriage, kids, various sales jobs filled the years since 2004. I was terrible at sales. I’m an ok mom and an even ok-er wife.

In 2013, 9 years after college, it clicked. I found my major. I found my drive, my obsession, my purpose as a human in this world – writing. People that are good at what they do have confidence. Writing doesn’t scare me. “I could have wrote that” is a common thought of mine. I’m jealous when my kids bring home book reports or anything that involves a lot of writing. I told you a writing challenge is my Olympics. I’m good and I strive for great.

My something unfinished is an English degree. My words are small. My vocabulary is weak. I’m still the 3.2 average student and I can only work with what I know. I know how to start and keep a dialogue in front of thousands of people, people I don’t know personally. Writing is a way to release my creativity, wit, and maybe a little humor.

People assume I’m silently correcting their grammar when they find out I write. That’s not true. The editors are. When my words are put on the stage, there’s always a person behind my name. It’s the editor. Editors make writers look good. They are masters of the language. I want that. I want to be a master.

I own English textbooks even when I don’t have a class to attend. I read books on writing by famous writers. I’m searching for better ways to string my words together. It sounds simple – stringing words together, letter by letter, but it’s difficult. It’s unfinished.

English is my something unfinished.


Wait, don’t go! Find me on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram. I have 29 days to go. What’s your something unfinished?