Tag Archives: time drain

Christmas Pintershizz: The Final Countdown

Sing it with us! “It’s the most wonderful time of the year . . .”  Hmmm, let’s not. How about we up the reality on this bad boy season and all download The Final Countdown?

Pintershizz Christmas Edition

Ellen: Is it crazy that I’m stewing in jealousy because my Jewish friends checked off their holidays in one epic swoop this year: Thanksgivukah? Sure it was a swirling dervish of exhausting festiveness at the time, but now they are done: D-O-N-E done.

Erin: Your spirit must be crushed to be envious of two holidays smashed together. Pushed up against the Shutterfly deadline again?

Ellen: Is it that obvious? I thought squeaking in under their free shipping cutoff was going to be the end of me . . . AGAIN.

Erin: We always poo poo pissin’ contests, BUT I have you beat. I am fighting the machine of the ACTUAL Shutterfly deadline. Like no-money-in-the-world-can-get-you-your-book if you miss this deadline.

Ellen: And the last day to order on most other sites is drawing near.  I always feel carefree about shopping when the internet is my safety net . . .

Erin: Until BAM! That safety net is ripped away like Santa scratching your name off of the Nice List.

Ellen: Amazon Prime  has lessened my stress considerably, but really, I think it may have exacerbated my procrastinating tendencies. You can’t wrap what you don’t have. I’m predicting my traditional Christmas Eve date with Scotch Tape and Pinot Noir in the unfinished side of my basement will be a “go” again this year.

Erin: I hate to burst your miniscule bubble of holiday cheer, but in a couple of days even Amazon Prime won’t be able to save you because there is no “Bend the Time Space Continuum” shipping option. You’ll have to resort to going into actual stores if you don’t pull yourself together.

Ellen: I feel myself shutting down. So what better way to cope than to avoid my Christmas list altogether and just make fun of stuff on Pinterest?

Erin: I’ll jump on your Procrastination Train! Its Caboose of Denial looks comfy. The stewards to stroke my hair and make shushing noises is a nice touch. Besides, I’m counting on elves this year to save me.

 

Ten Things Pintershit That Better Not Be Under Our Trees

Erin’s List

1. Godfather Gone Wrong

I love the classic movie “The Godfather”, but this pillowcase is taking fandom a bit too far and a little over the top. Fake gore on your pillow just seems so wrong. Plus it would be hard to explain to the six year old.

Horse head

2. Handbag From Hades

I like a great bag as much as the next girl, but this one is only appropriate for your next party down by the River Styx. I feel like I would need to pack some extra biscuits in it for Cerberus, but it hardly seems big enough for the reed pipe I’d need to lull him to sleep. Save this little beauty for another day or another girl who doesn’t know her mythology like I do. Or for someone you don’t like.

hades handbag

3. Sucker!

My 13 year old’s classmate brought these to school for a birthday treat. Look closely. That’s right—there are scorpions, real scorpions– imbedded in these bad boys. Supposedly, some of the kids LOVED them. I don’t care if they are prepackaged and gluten-free, I can’t get over that scorpions are venomous creatures. I just shuddered. I repeat, “DO NOT buy this for me.” Unless you want an Erin-sized hole in your front door as I run screaming for my life.

scorpion-suckers

4. Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should

This gives new meaning to the phrase “My dogs are tired.” Why would you make shoes like this?

dog shoe

Ellen: I don’t know, but your octogenarian catchphrases delight me every. single. time. They’re the bee’s knees.

Erin: There is no shame in being well read . . . and I can crash a bridge game like a boss.

Ellen: I have to agree, that is a skill that could come in mighty handy, as handy as hip pockets on a hog.

Erin: Now you’re just mocking me.

5. Sweater With a Side of Surgical Mask

There’s almost nothing I love more than turtlenecks and sweaters during the cold winter months; so I would normally welcome a gift like this. There is just something clinical about the weird way you’re supposed to wear it over your face. It says, “I take my fashion with a side of Ebola virus.” This would make Christmas dinner at the family homestead awkward, especially since I would have to consume my entire meal through a straw. Ham and potato smoothie, yuuummmmm.

mcx-alexander-wang-look6-lgn

Ellen’s List

6. Wonky Wookie

I like Stars Wars as much as the next person, but this is a little much. Dressing like Chewbacca would just make me feel like I forgot to wax.  Don’t tell me it’s for Halloween because I already have a bevy of Hallo-Awkward-Ween choices lined up for next year.

But on second thought, if I wore this, could I get away with just wookie roaring at everyone? Hmmmm . . . or rather Arrrarroowwrrerr.

f000_chewie_costume_hoodie

By the way, special thanks to infolinks for taking my query — “How to write Chewbacca sounds?” — as seriously as I take my writing. I got THE right information for THE right decision, yo. Integrity.

7. Christmas No

Don’t think that just because this sweater embraces more of a yuletide theme that it is appropriate. Just to be clear, this does not give me the warm and fuzzies. It gives me visions of Labradors peeing on my feet. You, know, because  I would be a tree.

christmas sweater

8. Heck No

Wellllllllllll, I think there is something obviously and freudian-ly amiss with a monstrous shark emerging from a crotch. But really, I don’t care to hate on Ariel or cause little wanna-be princesses angst; let alone inflict my daughters with that much mortification. Who, aside from a Victoria Secret model, can stand that much groin gawking during a simple day at the beach? Although . . . this would be hilarious on a Disney cruise, right? Mwahahahaha.

shark vs mermaid

9. The Gift That Keeps On Drowning

Now that I have a complex about sharks eating mermaids, I would just consider this gift a blatant and aggressive threat on my well-being. Can you actually imagine swimming, I mean, not drowning in this??

But it does provide a nice set-up for the gift of laughter. What do you call a muffin top squeezed up by a mermaid tail? A tuna roll! I’m here all week, folks.

MERMAID-TAILS-570

10. Just Take A Baseball Bat To My Knee

My knee is always just one twitch away from needing an MRI. Disability can even stalk me while walking in a straight line on level ground. These shoes would just seal the deal in a slow and tortuous way. Who am I kidding? It would be fast and epic. Regardless, the spikes would make it hard for you to remove my shoe from your arse when I shoved it there for giving me such an awful gift.

spikeheel

 

However if you insist on giving me that shoe, you know, for my own fashion good, then you’d better gift it with this AT-AT Walker walker. This is a Star Wars gift I can get behind. But now you’re confused, you say? I just dissed Chewbacca and now I’m embracing this? It’s really very simple. You just have to be discerning . . .  and read my mind.

AT-AT Walker

Here’s wishing that all your shipping deadlines are soft, your cards get sent out before President’s Day, and no one dumps Pintershizz under your tree!

xoxo

Ellen and Erin

 

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A Gazillion Easy Steps To Finding Holiday Exercise Time

In addition to being sensible and funny, we really do try to be authentic around here. So after we wrote our post about keeping a time diary to find a magic hour to indulge in seek out stress relief, I did just that. I easily found my hour in the morning to get my exercise groove on, right after unloading the dishwasher and BEFORE being sucked into social media.

Let me share so that you too can make time to exercise, if that is your pathway to Holiday Zen like it is for me. Rest easy because finding the time is as easy as reciting the alphabet.

A Gazillion Easy Steps To Finding Holiday Exercise Time

A.  Wake up determined that THIS is the day you will jump back into the exercise rodeo ring due to a dream you had about your stomach paunch being bigger than Robert De Niro’s. (This is 100% true. How could I make this up? There may have been a couple or fifty cats in the dream too. Feel free to leave your dream analysis in the comments.)

B.  Ignore the box of mantle decorations that is STILL sitting in the middle of the family room. Maybe if you wait one more hour, elves will put them up. Vacuum up the tree needles, though, in preparation for your post-workout stretch.

C.  Turn the Facebook notifications off on your phone and lace up those shoes (after you spend 10 minutes looking for them.)

D.  Go down to the basement to unfold the “Easy Fold” treadmill.

E.  Attempt to unfold again.

F.  Complain about the situation on Facebook, but feel proud because you only spent 20 extra minutes online. Besides, you found this hilarious pair of pedicure booties. Totally worth it.

G.  Actually read the simple instructions on the label plastered at eye level on the treadmill.

H.  Attempt to unfold again.

I.  Kick the bejeezus out of the release bar because you’re pretty sure that is what the label implied for you to do.

Kick It Real Good Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

J.  Say forget it, you’ll just run outside because you like that better anyway.

K.  Step into garage and remember it’s 30 degrees out with ice and snow.

L.  Grab the rubber mallet instead.

M.  Return downstairs and repeatedly whack release bar until realizing  you have reached Handygal Level: Hypocrite. You would be all over your husband like cat hair on black pants for doing this.

N.  Thought passes through your mind that maybe all of these trips up and down the steps count as your foray back into exercise.

O.  Be strong and decide it would be quicker to use the clothes rack exercise bike in your bedroom instead since you have already used up your “magic hour.”

P.  Start a load of laundry from what was found on and around the bike. Fold the clothes in the dryer. Stupid elves ignored this job too.

Q.  Sit your fanny on the bike seat for 0.09 nanoseconds before the doorbell rings because the contractor is one hour early. WTH? Early?

R.  Trudge around with him outside.

S.  Feel re-energized by the sunshine and crisp air and resolve to beat the treadmill.

T.  Snatch a wrench from the garage and storm down the stairs with renewed purpose to confront your nemesis.

U.  Remove the @#$^*#& release bar and receive the full weight of the treadmill deck on your shoulders.

V.  Acknowledge that you will indeed need a bladder support surgery by your 5th decade as you ever so gently lower the deck to the floor.

W.  Realize you are starving because you had planned to exercise 2.5 hours ago.

X.  Run upstairs to grab a vegetarian breakfast sandwich with a cookie chaser because, hey, you’re  going to work out.

Y.  Decide to write a blog post while you eat because the world deserves to join you in your journey.

Z.  Return to the treadmill and attempt to turn on the TV, but there’s no signal. Spend minutes checking cables, but draw the line at calling DirectTV because dammit, you are going to run.

AA.  Chest bump your reflection in the full length mirror you regret installing because the alphabet cannot contain you.

AB.  Run! Rejoice that you avoid a face plant since you apparently forgot how to tie your shoelaces during your looooong break from running. Avoid celebrating with nachos.

AC.  Be kind to yourself for your 15:32 minute mile because dang it, you have remembered that running does indeed create your happy space. Savor your stretch on your needle-free carpet.

AD.  Realize that you don’t have time to shower before school pick-up, but try like hell to get those mantle decorations up. (Damn elves can’t be relied on for anything.) There is no way you and your glutes are managing a stepladder tomorrow.

AE.  Promise yourself you will only repeat Step AB – AC tomorrow . . . in less than 6 hours.

Tada! Magic hour easily found and realized!

As easy as saying your ABCs if you were doing it standing on your head with coyotes gnawing at your toes while manic clowns pelt you with water balloons.

What will you do with your “magic hour?”

-Ellen

 

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Check out our books, “I Just Want to Be Alone” and “You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth.”

 

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Our Kids Are Finding the Funny in Blogging

We know our kids are some of the luckiest, most blessed kids on the planet. Pretty much everything about being a kid in one of our families rocks. However, we do often hear mutterings and suffer eye rolls about the “stupid blog.”  Whatever.

10 Reasons Being A Kid With A Mom Who Blogs Rocks

One…

someecards.com - My mother used to bake cookies with me...but now she blogs and I pretty much raise myself.

 

Two (Direct quote from Jellybean)

someecards.com - So, Mom. Is this how this blogging thing is going to go? You just stealing my genius?

 

Three…

someecards.com - Nows that she blogs, my mom talks to me in Twitter slang.

 

Four…

someecards.com - I'm not sure my mother remembers my real name anymore, so I've learned to respond to my blog alias.

 

Five…

someecards.com - My mom used to actually make arts and crafts with me. Now she just pins them to her Pinterest

 

Six…

someecards.com - Love having to wait for my mom to edit her blog one more time before I can use the computer for my book report.

 

Seven…

someecards.com - My mom use to make me pancakes, but now I get all of the cold cereal I can forage for because she is busy making someecards.

 

Eight…

someecards.com - Once upon a time, my mother read bedtime stories to me. Now she just reads her blogger friends' status updates.

 

Nine…

someecards.com - I haven't had a hot meal since my mom started artfully plating and photographing every dinner for Pinterest.

 

Ten…

someecards.com - I miss the days before the blog. You know. When I could talk to my mom without her writing down everything I say.

 -Erin and Ellen

Welcome to November’s Finding the Funny!

Finding the Funny Link Up Get Ready to Laugh

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Pintershit: The Nail Polish Edition

Today’s Pinterest rant is targeting nails. Full disclosure–I’m not a big fan of painting my nails. It’s not because I’m not girly or I don’t think it’s pretty. It’s just I’m a perfectionist and I can’t stand smudges or chips and my life is a smudge and chip inducing maelstrom.

Let’s talk about those smudges. The moment I become incapacitated in any way– say, my butt hits a toilet seat, my hair drips with shampoo, or my nails are freshly lacquered–a tremor in the biosphere occurs triggering an explosion of “MOM!!!!” Can’t let wet nails prevent me from saving the day.

But I’m a resourceful gal, let’s say I sneak under the radar and manage to vamp up my nails. What’s the point of all of that effort when my maelstrom of a  life hasn’t changed? A manicure doesn’t stand a chance against my to-do list of mulching the flower beds and scraping the black gunk from around the kitchen faucet. Contrary to urban legends, I use my hands for more than clicking the remote and popping bon bons.

Soooooo, just don’t paint my nails and the frustration is gone, right? WRONG! I have daughters. Daughters who are 12 and 14. Every time I call to them for assistance there is some kind of nail polishing going on. Hmm, maybe I’m THEIR tremor in the biosphere.

Me: I need these clothes folded.

Jellybean: I’m finishing the topcoat on my nails.

Me: The dishwasher needs to be unloaded.

Coco: Oooo, sorry, I just started painting my nails.

Me: The trash needs to be taken out.

Jellybean: I’m painting Coco’s nails. With stencils!

Me: Seriously, you need to clean the toilets.

Them: We’re simultaneously painting each other’s nails.

Me: I give up. I’m going to Target.

Them: Can you pick us up some base coat?

So what’s the problem? Nails dry and they can carry on. Well, the problem is Pinterest. Once again Pinterest has upped the ante.

 

You can’t just slap on a coat of polish and call it a day. Oh no! There must be designs and glitter and themes. Painting nails takes eleventy forevers plus two hours. My girls get to their tasks eventually, but not on my time schedule. You know that an unloaded dryer or dishwasher is the equivalent of a jackknifed tractor trailer on the chore highway. Nothing is moving along or getting done until they are cleared.

Now my heart is not made of acrylic. They do have some pretty cute results.

Free hand zebra stripes--the Sistine Chapel of nails . . . except they take longer.

Free hand zebra stripes–the Sistine Chapel of nails . . . except they take longer.

 

But Pinterest won’t just stop at time consuming. As always, it crosses from “Wow!” to “What the Heck?” to Pintershit in the blink of an eye.

Pintershit The Nail Polish Edition

 

1. Ok, THESE are the Sistine Chapel of Nails.

Who has time for this? The intricacy makes my head spin.

 

2. And these are the Van Gogh of Nails.

Get this woman an easel and some pastels. Talent like this should not be wasted on an art medium that is going to get wrecked the moment she has to do something major . . . like actually participate in life. Doors don’t open themselves, People. Well, unless they are automatic . . . or revolving.

 

3. WTF are up with these?

At least the above two examples are attractive. An utter waste of time, but attractive. These are just weird. I’m torn between two interpretations–the abstract representation of my dreams swirling out of my grasp as time marches on and choices become narrowed OR bird poop sliding down a window.

 

4. I think I wasted a WTF on number 3.

These are fuzzy. FUZ-ZY. I guess they would come in handy for a chronic nose picker during hay fever season. You know, because they’re extra absorbent.

 

5. Paying homage to my Savior on your nails?

Okay, that might be okay, but WHAT is that creature next to the baby (alien) Jesus? Is it a sheep? A pig? Chupacabra?

 

6. “I know what we’re gonna do today.”

Waste some time on some cartoon nails! Maybe these Phineas and Ferb nails should go a little deeper undercover; although I have to admit Perry is looking kind of sharp.

 

7. Let the games begin!

Oh I’m not talking about Tetris. The only game she’ll be playing is “Find the piece of mommy’s bizarre nail in the macaroni and cheese.”

 

8. Nails, lips, and a meme!

Extra bonus points for the nails matching the lips. That paint doesn’t look toxic. at. all. Speaking of toxic, have I been sniffing too much polish remover or does her bottom lip look like Grumpy Cat?

 

 

9. Art?

I’m assuming this is art, but I’m wishing it wasn’t. I’d be pretty careful wiping if you know what I mean.

 

10. I am not alone.

Robyn from Hollow Tree Ventures writes for the hilarious site Craft Fail. She shared an attempt that our friend Anna of Random Handprints made at copying a Matzoh Manicure. She eventually nailed it, but this try might be more mange than matzoh.

 

 

Oh Pinterest, you know we love you, but sometimes you lead us astray.

-Ellen-

 

Pintershit Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

 

 

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Mom Brain Is Forever

We are all familiar with the fog that smothers your sleep-deprived brain when you first have a baby. A typical day consists of finding your cellphone in the refrigerator and discovering butter in your diaper bag. This fuzzy consciousness has frequently been dubbed “Mommy Brain.”

We hate to break it to you, but since we are The Sensible Moms, we have to set the record straight: it NEVER ends. You may now want to call us “The Buzz Kill Moms” or “Moms Who Need to Shut It”, but sticking your head in the sand won’t change the reality. In fact, we’re knighting this condition “Mom Brain” because our kids are too old to still be calling us Mommy.

Here’s a point to send you rocking in the corner: we are all aging as our kids get older. It’s a sliding scale for losing your ever-loving mind and for it staying lost. Erin is five years from infant times and Ellen is a whopping twelve years out, and Mom Brain is still kicking us in the rear. The Super-Duper-Swell-Can-I-Have-A-Xanax-On-The-Side difference? Now the collateral damage has an even larger zone of destruction.

Sad Scenario One: You lose important shizz.

Ellen: People! I misplaced not only my passport, but my husband’s, too! This was just two years ago. Do you know the expense and the paperwork that must be filled out when you can’t turn in the old passport? It blows.

But you want to play a little  crazy Mom Brain association game with me? What else do you blow? (Keep it G rated!) That’s right, birthday candles and balloons. And that’s where I found our passports one month after we got back from our trip —in the birthday candle and balloon box.

Erin: I think we need to discuss the “Birthday Candle and Balloon Box”. WTH?

Ellen: Hey, I can find those things when I need them, right? I’m combating Mom Brain with organization.

Yes, the Birthday Balloon and Candle Box is located just north of the litter box (that Ellen scooped right before snapping this photo because she loves you that hard).

 

Erin: Sounds more like hoarding because it would just be silly to lay out a buck for a new set of birthday candles each time. Much more economical to create a place for your passport to hide.

Ellen: So we’re throwing stones? How about that camera bag and lens you misplaced?

Erin: I can’t even talk about it. By the way, did security strip search you or anything because you were flagged for lost passports?

Ellen: No thank goodness. Why do you ask?

Erin: I MAY have just had to go through the same process when I couldn’t find my passport for the Bermuda cruise my husband, Steve and I are FINALLY sprinting away on.

Ellen: I will be over here fighting an uncontrollable urge to hide something in your luggage until the moment of your departure.

Erin: I would be worried, but you are going to forget about it anyway. See, I AM Pollyanna. I just found the sunny side of Mom Brain.

 

Sad Scenario Two: Your calendar plots to punk you all of the time.

Ellen: Mmmmm, I’m gonna have to call “projecting” and say that YOU punk me all of the time.

Erin: Does it make you feel better that I’ve gotten Steve, too?

Ellen: No, it doesn’t because I happen to like your husband. You know what would make me feel better? To transcribe MY incident down for the record.

Erin: If this can be the last I hear of it, go ahead.

Ellen: Short version: Erin needed to sign some paperwork for the blog. She was supposed to print it out, sign it, and mail it to me. We live about 35 minutes apart.

Erin: We’re 25 minutes apart if you believe our friend, Mary.

Ellen: Don’t try to derail my train of thought with another Mom Brain topic: the inability to properly gauge travel time.

Anyway, she forgot to mail it for a week straight, so she was going to bring it to me—sort of.  She wanted to meet me at my child’s high school because she thought her son, Ace (15) was playing soccer there. She maintained that the game was at MY school despite the fact I quoted three sources that said it was at her school.

Erin: I thought it had been changed!

Ellen:  So I drove yet another round trip to my kid’s school. That brought the grand total to five for that day, but at least that one was for NOTHING. Well, shame on my Mom Brain for listening to you instead of my three sources.

Erin: My Mom Brain and I are really, really sorry about that. I was still learning to juggle my new part-time work schedule with my soccer-moming and the volunteer commitments I had made the year before. All of that keeping my eye on the ball apparently blurred my vision so I just didn’t read the schedule right. End of sad, sad story.

Ellen: Amazing I can’t remember where my iPod is , but this story stays fresh. Probably time to let it go.

Erin: Like I said, it was nothing against you because I darn near did the same thing to Steve.

Steve was on soccer field duties with three of our spunky future soccer stars AND the crap schedule I gave him. As he fumbled around the soccer field trying to piece together where the boys were ACTUALLY supposed to be, I got to listen to the whole debacle unfold in real time via cell phone. Oh, good times! If the sound of the fuming husband didn’t make me feel like a crumbled biscuit, the pathetic whimper of the heartbroken five year old  who missed his game did me in. I took down my entire family’s happy Saturday with one faulty calendar entry.

Puddle of crap. Party of one.

Ellen: See what we were talking about with the larger radius of destruction?? Only so much chaos could go down when the only thing on your schedule was story time.

Sad Scenario Three: You have to go back to the paper trail.

Ellen: We can just hear your Mom Brains shouting, “But that is what smartphones are for! You can enter, link, and share calendars. There are even alerts!”

Erin: Oh, but there is this little thing my husband likes to call the ID10T error. Must I really explain?

Ellen: Yeah, I’ve muffed entering a date into my phone when bedlam is buzzing around me— the kids yelling and the cat puking on the 25% of my house that is carpet. The worst, though? Speeding through a calendar entry on my phone because, grrrrr, the phone starts ringing.

Erin: I not only have to record the date in my phone and on my wall calendar, but I have been schooled to keep the originals.  

My super-organized friend Nicole sent out her birthday party invitation well in advance. I promptly loaded that data into our Google calendar and tossed that puppy into the recycling bin. When I saw her at school, I said, “See you Saturday.” “You mean Sunday.” “No, Saturday.” “Erin, his party’s on Sunday.” “No, it’s not.” Do you see what I am laying down? I was arguing with my friend about the date of HER party. Good grief. Y’all should just put me down already. I’m not fit for human company.

Ellen: In all fairness, you really could have been correct. I was still putting the finishing touches on this beauty . . .

JellyBean’s (12) PERSONAL birthday cake because in our family you’re never too old to have your own cake to dig into with abandon.

 

Ellen: . . . when the guests started arriving for my daughter’s sleepover. Yeah, they were on time, I was under the delusion that I had one more hour, despite the fact I put the time on the invitations.

Erin: And so our lives are reduced to entering the date on multiple calendars AND keeping the originals. I miss the days when all I had was the pediatrician visit reminder cards.

So are you actually rocking in the corner yet? Where’s the trust? We’re not going to leave you without any solutions!

The Sensible Moms Solutions to Mom Brain

1. Number Your Children

In fact, number ALL of the children because those little hooligans are waiting to take you down too! We find this system works best if you always make them walk, move, and arrange themselves around the table in numerical order.

 

2. Tag Your Stuff

We know Brookstone makes a Wireless Key Finder, but it’s expensive, and let’s face it, you’ll probably lose the transmitter that locates your tagged shiz. Plus, you have more stuff to lose than keys. We’re solving this problem old school à la bright-orange-flag-on-the-back-of-a-banana-seat-bike style.

 

3. Velcro Shirt

Keep your MOST important items within your sight at all times. Your keys are just a boob length away!

 

Mom Brain might be here to stay, but it was all worth it. Right? Our kids, the precious memories, even the not-so-precious memories. It was all worth it, right? Right!?! At this point, we’re too addled to know any better. Bring your Velcro and come rock in the corner with us. Arts and crafts are soothing.

 

 

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A Guide For Procrastinators On How To Complete a Pinterest Worthy Project

I’m a DIY sort of person — not on the scale of building decks or patching roofs, but let’s just say one Christmas my husband gave me a sapphire bracelet and a compound miter saw. When the toilet needs to be fixed or the cabinets need to be moved so the new refrigerator can fit in the old opening, I’m the gal for the job.  And woe to the unprepared repairman who asks my husband to borrow a tool. He will just be redirected back to the “little lady” he strode past to get to the man of the house.

Unfortunately, my hot dish of competence comes with a heaping side of procrastination and a big dollop of perfectionism dripping off the plate onto Grandma’s heirloom tablecloth. It’s a double whammy, Folks. Getting started on a project is as easy for me as getting the cat to cut our grass on the Fourth of July.

“But the perfectionism is a good thing, Ellen! A perfect project is what you want, right?” you say.

Well, thanks for being my enabler, but no. My meticulousness does not spring from a bottomless well. I waste so much energy in the beginning with precision that I often fail to cross the finish line. Seriously, it’s like I’m inches from breaking the tape and I’m liked, “Meh, I ran 12.9 miles. Good enough. I think I’ll go have a margarita. And start another race.”

This towel hangs in my bathroom next to the tub with the surround I built and installed . . . with the nail holes still unfilled.

 

But the project I’m sharing with you today is epic and finished (well, it will be by the time I post this — fingers crossed). And epic is not hyperbole. This project spanned two centuries.

 

A Gazillion Steps to Finishing Two Lingerie Chests

Now don’t get all hot and bothered. I don’t have enough lingerie to fill two pieces of furniture. It’s just what they’re called and these are the drawers that would fit on either side of the TV armoire . . . a piece of furniture that is now obsolete and needs to go because we want a bigger flat screen. But the easiest way to get it out would be to take an ax to it and I don’t have that kind of violence simmering within me right now.

Anyway, back to my project that begins at the turn of the century in 1999 . . .

The Steps

1. Buy two unfinished pieces of furniture because you want to be creative and do something special with them.

2. Realize that your time would be wasted doing something special with them because there is no Facebook or Pinterest on which to show them off. Incidentally, you discover you are pregnant with your second child and think huffing hydrocarbons would not be the responsible thing to do.

3. Put chests in storage for 13 years. Wait for social media to take the world by storm.

4. Rejoice that there is Pinterest and remember that you have a project to complete. Remembering is not hard since you have to climb over these drawers every year to excavate the Christmas decorations.

5. Pin all the things to make these chests ever-loving fabulous!

6. Decide to haul drawers out of the basement to the garage in May 2012. This is not only the end of the school year, but the end of two milestone school years — my oldest graduating from 8th grade and my youngest graduating from 5th grade. My calendar looked like this.

Believe me, even when it wasn’t blurred to protect the innocent, it was hard to follow.

 

7. Fail to get drawers completed — and by completed, I mean started — before school ends.

8. Spend summer having fun and not parking in the garage. Beat down anxiety as junk slowly creeps into the space where the car use to be.

9. Kids are back in school! Clear out garage to get to the drawers. This only takes a day or 15.

The creep is strong in this house it is.

 

10. Search through stash to see if you have anything with which to complete this project. After all, DIY is supposed to be economical!

11. Find some pretty cream colored glazing stain. Remember that yes, this is what you wanted to do with the chests. But alas the jar is tiny and the company that made it went out of business. Mourn the loss because you’re sure it would have worked really well. Since they were good enough to stay in business and all.

12. Say, “Patooey! This project has been over a decade in the making, but I don’t have time for that whole staining process. To the Home Depot for spray paint!”

13. Buy a case of spray paint because you are NOT going to get burned with that whole “going out of business” thing again. No siree. Spend a mortgage payment on drawer pulls while you’re there.

14. It is time to start sanding. Whoopee! Nothing is more fun than scraping your knuckles and breathing in sawdust. Pull out the first drawer and find the knobs you bought a lifetime ago — my youngest daughter’s lifetime that is. They are perfect, but this leads you to the next chore . . .

15. Return the recently purchased knobs to Home Depot. Celebrate your new found fortune . . . until you write your mortgage check.

Hawt

16. Put on a super cute outfit and commence sanding.  Make sure you do it well and go with the grain. My furniture was bare so I started with a fine grit sanding sponge.  Sanding is the foundation to a great finish. (REAL TIP ALERT!)

17. Search for a tack cloth to remove the dust, the next step to a smooth finish. For some reason you can’t find one on your work bench.

It’s so puzzling why I can’t find anything.

 

18. Declare, “I am NOT going back to Home Depot.” Wipe chests with a damp cloth and raise the grain of the wood. Anyone who knows the term “raising the grain” should not be stupid enough to do it. (REAL TIP ALERT: Raising the grain means to make the wood fibers swell up. It can be a good idea to do this if you are staining a piece because you swell the fibers and can sand them down BEFORE you start to stain. If you’re using spray paint, this step just sucks away your time and patience.)

19. Begin sanding process again. Skulk to Home Depot to buy a $1.79 tack cloth. Spend $20 on pansies while you’re there because, you know, you need another project.

20. REAL TIP ALERT: Prime the chests using a color close to your final color. I used a red brown since my final color was a metallic copper.

Smoothing with a paper bag

21. Start spraying your layers of final color. REAL TIP ALERT: Follow the directions on the can exactly. You can do a couple of light coats within ONE HOUR, but not too many or your paint will start to sag. After that one hour passes you have to wait 48 hours for the next coat. Really. The key to a good spray paint finish is for the finish to cure and harden rather than remain gummy. In between dry coats, buff the surface lightly with a paper bag to smooth it before you start spray painting again.

Rock on

22. Pretend you’re a quirky pop star with your new metallic fingertip.

23. Repeat steps 21 and 22 until your piece is evenly finished. You may want to find something to pass the time while you are waiting for the paint to cure. I chose an emergency appendectomy, but use your own judgement.

24. Panic that Superstorm Sandy is coming and might flood your garage. Move drawers into living room.

Hit me up if you want some Feng Shui tips

 

25. Decide that this project has not dragged on long enough and you need to up the wow factor by upholstering the sides. Give yourself a hard deadline by scheduling a sleepover party with 14 tween girls for your daughter’s birthday.

26. Pattern match, measure, and cut the fabric and batting for the sides.

27. Allow yourself a moment to freak the hell out when you turn the furniture over and discover a bevvy of spider eggs cases. Resist setting the drawers on fire. You’ve come too far.

28. Staple! But first relocate your cat to another room so that she does not wrap herself around your head at the first <Whamp>.

29. Take a break until 2 days before the party. Make sure to include the stapler in your cleaning routine.

30. Get your butt in gear because you have a cake to bake! Finish the edges of the fabric panels with ribbon and brass tacks. Smash your fingers and destroy the “brass” finish on the tack with the first whack of the hammer.

31. REAL TIP ALERT: Remember the trick of holding the tack with a fork or comb and search for your tack hammer. For some reason, you still can’t find anything on your work bench. Pilfer the mouse pad that was included in your awesome prize basket that you won in the twisted crafting contest sponsored by The Bearded Iris and The Suniverse and wrap it around the only hammer out of five that you can find.

32. Voila! Five hours later you’re finished!

 

That Was Easy.

Thanks to Robyn at Hollow Tree Ventures for inspiring me to chronicle my DIY efforts with her hilarious post “How To Be An Artist In Umpteen Easy Steps.

 

–Ellen

 

 

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10 Questionably Amazing Memories

For Monday Listicles, Ducky, the maestro of sass and humor at Batcrap Crazy, suggested “10 Amazing memories from not so long ago.”

Hmmm. When you think amazing, you think of wonderful blessings like rainbows and microbrewed beer. Things that radiate positivity. So, we started making a list of memories and it was long and it was great, BUT it was booooor-ing. And we wanted you to be amazingly entertained. We needed a different angle.

So when all else fails, turn to the dictionary. (Okay, we all know we Googled it, but we like to pretend we’re old school.)

Amazing: adjective – Causing great surprise or wonder; astonishing.

 

So we’re going with memories that evoked surprise, wonder or astonishment retold with our own measure of sass and humor.

Our Version of 10 Amazing Memories

 1. Ellen remembers the time Erin punked her.

We were forming our LLC and I had the paperwork for Erin to sign. We live about 35 minutes apart and our  schedules for that week were so crazy that we were hard pressed to find a time to meet. Erin chimed in that her high schooler’s soccer team was playing my daughter’s school and we could meet at the game. She thought the game was at my school and I told her she was wrong. About 5 different times. In five different ways. She insisted the game was in my neck of the woods. Before I left my house to meet her at my high school, I texted her with “Are you sure the game location is changed?” She replied, “Yep.”

Against my better judgement, I drove to my school and trekked out to the soccer field which is so far removed from the parking lot that I recommend packing a snack and a fully charged cell phone before setting out.  Squinting, I could faintly see kids running around, but as I got closer, I saw ponytails. It was the girls’ soccer team. Practicing.

Whipping my fully charged phone out, my “Where the bleep are you?” was met by her innocent “Where are you?” She thought her “Yep” clarified that the game was indeed at her school. She thought that even though I could not spare 17 minutes to meet her halfway between our houses,  I was suddenly willing to make the 90 minute round trip to her son’s school to collect her signature.   On the I’d-like-to-make-a-voodoo-doll side, at least I got to wait at the school for 40 minutes for my daughter to finish her volleyball practice.  I do not wonder if the rest of what I said was blazed upon her brain forever.

2. Erin remembers a time when she could keep her calendar straight.

So with exhibit A (see above) still fresh in everyone’s memory, I proceeded to punk my husband, Steve, as well. As I set off to the cross country championships with the girl child, I sent Steve to the soccer fields with the four boys and a crappy, erroneous game schedule. Steve pieced together the REAL schedule through luck and ingenuity for 3 of the 4 boys, but there was a victim in this fiasco: the kindergartener who missed his game completely. Never mess with a hyper-verbal kindergartner. Poor Steve not only had to deal with unraveling the cryptic schedule but the fallout from an irate five year old as well. When I saw them hours later, the little one busted through the door and announced,  “Daddy can’t take me to soccer anymore.” Steve gave me the look that long-marrieds recognize as “this one is going on the list”. Yikes!

And no one ever listened to me cite a soccer schedule again. Phase 1 of trying to rid myself of the job of Master Scheduler complete. Mwahaahaahaa.

3. Ellen remembers a time when 25 minutes was not added to each round trip to her kids’ school.

I might not have gotten so peeved about the soccer screw-up if I had not been having time sucked away by the detour to the school. Sucked away like gerbil hair attacked by a Dyson on steroids.

Three days before school began in August, the rinky-dink bridge over the trickling saliva stream of a creek on my road was closed for replacement. That bridge is still closed. I make up to three round trips to that school each weekday and sometimes on Saturdays. I have lost days worth of minutes, People.

Think of the awesome blog posts I could have written! Think of all llamas I could have pinned on Pinterest! Think of all the laundry I could have done! Wait, I’m now thinking of all of the times I could have used this as an excuse.

4. Erin remembers a time when her kids were all in the same school. On the same schedule.

With the same days off. With half the paperwork and emails from administrators. With the same drop-off and pick-up times. <sigh> Those were the days. Talk about a time suck. Love you high school.

5. Ellen remembers a time when she had regular  Friday date nights.

Speaking of loving high school, ALL activities, competitions, dances, parties, and tournaments seem to fall on Fridays. Wait, I’m exaggerating. A gagillion events consume Saturday nights too. Ironically, just when I no longer need a babysitter, my babies’ social calendars override mine.

6. Ellen remembers when she had an appendix and her house was not such a wreck.

My friends, my husband, and my children did an excellent job of keeping our lives running after my surgery, but let’s just say a lot of of things just got pushed to the periphery. And might now be overflowing to the center. A cleaning service would not be turned away.

7. Ellen remembers when she could run.

My appendectomy put a serious hurting on my half marathon training and therefore is putting a serious strain on my waistbands.

8. Ellen remembers when she could fit into this costume.

Yeah, not running is not a good thing. Coco (14) did have to cinch it quite a bit, so maybe I haven’t lost that much ground. Just put on your happy face and nod.

Caution: Only wear costumes you would like to see your daughter wear. Or at the very least add leggings, t-shirts, and boots. Or better yet, just burn them after you wear them. But Super Twix is pretty awesome.

 

9. Ellen remembers when she could find her shoes, jewelry, and make-up.

Coco doesn’t just take my old Halloween costumes.

10. Erin remembers when these pants fit.

I spent Labor Day weekend shopping furiously to piece together some semblance of a work wardrobe for the job I didn’t know I was going to have until three days before school started. All went well and I found a fair number of great pieces including these pants which fit perfectly that day. Now, two months in, they look like this. Some fabulous combo of stress, work, and regular exercise have transpired to create this situation. Or it could be a tapeworm. Either way, I’m not complaining

10% less Erin. 10% more crazy.

 

Amazing right? Check out what other nuggets of amazing are on Monday Listicles this week.

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Ghost of Halloween Post Past

I’m sitting here sipping my coffee on the deck, enjoying the last of the fall foliage and Indian Summer before Hurricane Sandy hits to blow it all away and I just itch to write a Halloween post. But we haven’t done a ton of Halloweening this year because of my appendectomy.  With me down and recovering, my family has been so focused on the necessities — food, clean laundry, transportation, and preventing me from busting my incisions open — that decorating has taken a back seat. This is the extent of our festiveness.

Decorations: 10% Pic Monkey, 50% carved, 100% consumed by fruit flies.

 

But with Frankenstorm coming our way, the lack of decorating really seems like a stroke of brilliance. While my neighbors scramble to take down corn stalks and dollar store ghosts, I get to sit here scrolling through our blog archives. And low and behold, I wrote a Halloween post last year! That exactly 12 people read because the blog wasn’t live when I “published” it.

So with a little editing, I’m sending this gem into the blogosphere for real. It was originally titled “Halloween is Sucking Me Dry Like a Bingeing Vampire.” Erin and I were trying to get this blog started and I had a ton of other things going on. I was nearly erupting in hives from the time suck Halloween was for me last year. In fact, here is a “snapshot” of a two hour period in my household:

Helped Jellybean (10) to construct a papier-mâché zombie wedding cake
Cooked dinner
Edited a speech by Coco (13)
Braided Coco’s hair so it would be wavy when delivering the speech
Mended the shirt to be worn during the speech
Folded laundry
Shortened the pinkie of a Michael Jackson glove

I know the most surprising thing on this list is why would I be folding laundry when I have two perfectly good children to do this. Well, we desperately needed clean underwear in our drawers  and Coco was writing her speech and Jellybean was not yet woman enough to multi-task to the level of working with flour paste and clean laundry simultaneously.

Would you like a slice with finger or brain?

But in all seriousness, I bet half of you didn’t even blink an eye that I was making a papier-mâché zombie wedding cake. Congratulations, you are my kind of parents. You were doing your own equally stupid things for Halloween, so I don’t seem that far off the bell curve to you.

But the “cake” did have a purpose. At my daughter’s elementary school, they have this great event, started by a great teacher called Trunk-or -Treat.  Parents circle their cars at the fire company’s carnival grounds and the kids trick-or-treat from trunk to trunk.  Sounds simple in theory, right?  But what would be the fun if there was no competition involved?  Of course, we have to decorate the trunks!  It is in its fourth year and as with all good things it gets grander and grander.

The first year we opened our decoration box and threw a bunch of stuff in our trunk.  APPARENTLY, we were not really embracing the spirit of the whole thing.  I got to burn with the shame of “Slacker Mom.”  The second year we did an 80’s theme, but alas, the older gentlemen judging the trunks were not feeling that “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”  The third year we won a trophy (that is still proudly displayed on the mantle) for “Kid Friendliest Theme.”  Check out the “Funky Monkey Hot Tub.”

Cleanliness of monkeys cannot be confirmed. Enter at own risk.

 

Well, our theme last year was “Zombie Wedding.”  (We watch way too much “Say Yes To The Dress” and “Cake Boss”). We constructed a zombie couple out of PVC pipe to go with the aforementioned cake.  We’ll just say I spent $100 on this glorious-ness ::wink, wink:: since my husband reads my blog.  I swear, you give me PVC pipe, wire ties, duct tape, and fishing line and I can out-design MacGyver.

This is what 5 gazillion work hours looks like.

 

But oh my goodness, this trunk decorating dragged on my time so much that my family lived on fish sticks and learned to wear socks more than once. Don’t be too skeeved. We bought more underwear to bridge the gap. We’re not animals. Only deep breathing and wine prevented me from ruining all this fun with a screaming banshee grade meltdown. The killer is that this event replaced a free and simple school Halloween parade.  Kids just brought their costumes to school and walked around the field; simple as that.  But would we really be in the 21st century if we were allowed to keep things simple? If it doesn’t drive you to the brink of madness, is it really worth doing? Okay, I must interrupt this rant about the merits of simplicity with a confession. I did reallyenjoy making zombie breast implants. I disturbed my kids and I could not stop laughing.

NOT FDA Approved

 

But you know what truly made it all worthwhile? Winning, Baby! “Most Creative” trophy went to us! People were standing next to our creeps for photo ops like it was The Haunted Mansion at Disney World. Was it all worth it for the plastic trophy and $10 Wawa gift card?  I must admit, we are competitive enough to say, “Yes!”  But truth be told, Jellybean’s excitement and pride were pretty awesome, too.  I could hear the thump of one more brick mortared into the foundation of our relationship.  And here is the Sisterhood Secret: you  REALLY need that foundation to be strong by the time they reach their teens.  Just ask Coco, who wasn’t too cool to celebrate with the rest of us.

-Ellen

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Never Have I Ever: School Projects Edition

We’d never do our kid’s homework, but papier-mâché and science projects just don’t happen on kitchen tables without some intervention and guidance.

Erin–  Oy, this week may qualify as the Everest for School Projects, but I do believe we have made it to base camp. This week has been non-stop. Ellen and I have both been up to our eyeballs in school projects.

Ellen– Well, if you have been up to your eyeballs, I guess I’ve been up to my armpits. I do only have two kids to your five, after all.

ErinFor the record, when we were planning said family, nobody mentioned school projects times 5. Factor that in, people! It should be right up there with college tuition and the cost of diapers.

And I am not feeling your math on this one. The proportions don’t seem right. I have 5. You have 2. I’m not seeing a 3/5 difference between the armpits and the eyeballs.

Ellen– I was dealing with epidemiology, laminar flow patterns, and Rube Goldberg machines. I think that closes the gap.

ErinWell, I need a drink to even pretend that I want you to expand on that.

Ellen– Remember the drinking games in college? Ah, those were the days. We had such endless hours of time that we had to create games so that drinking lasted long enough to fill them.

Erin–  Ahh, those WERE the days! Loved the game “Never Have I Ever”! Somebody would start by making a statement that starts with “Never have I ever”. Then anybody who “had ever” had to drink.  I remember this being one of the more structured drinking games with rules and everything. There was even moral high ground: lying was strictly forboten.

Ellen– Holy Preciousness. You all can save your eye muscles the strain of the eye roll. I have you covered. I guess they liked their drinking games with contrived Shakespearean structure at Erin’s liberal arts college.

ErinI think it had something to do with being run by Jesuits, but I’m just guessing.

Ellen– Anyway, I went to the University of Maryland during the period when they were transitioning from being a contender on Playboy’s Top Party School List to Not-Your-Safety-School.

Our games were not structured, and the only moral high ground was not to target your best friend’s boyfriend as your next hook-up. That being said, we also played ‘Never Have I Ever,” just without the integrity.

 ErinCan you imagine if The Sisterhood crashed the party on those poor 20-somethings?

Ellen – Ooo, I’m envisioning “Never Have I Ever: The School Projects Edition.” We would either make those poor Innocents’ heads explode or exponentially increase their dedication to birth control use.

Clucking Adorable

ErinIt might go something like this:

Innocent 1: Never Have I Ever violated a farm animal.

Erin: (Take a drink) Check. I just shoved a rooster in a can.

Innocent 1: Did you just say you shoved a rooster up your can?

Table shouts: “Spill the story, spill the story.”

Erin: Puh-leez. We had to papier-mâché a rooster for a third grade character in a can project.

Innocent 1: Well, that was a lot more boring than I thought it would be.

(Sideways glances among the Innocents. A few raised eyebrows.)

 Innocent 2: Never Have I Ever dabbled in bondage.

Ellen: (Takes a drink) Well, I may not technically qualify, but seeing as I already took the drink, I’m going to go for it. Yesterday, I had to scour the house for a pulley, steel cable, and duct tape so that Coco (13) could construct her Rube Goldberg machine. But, the rubric did specifically say the machine could not “imply profane, indecent, or lewd expressions,” so I’m going to take a penalty drink for game foul.

NOT Coco’s Rube Goldberg Machine

 

Innocent 1 whispers to Innocent 2: Wait, what did she say?

Innocent 2: I think she said that Rudy Goldberg, you know, from Econ class, puts roosters in bondage…

Innocent 3: Never Have I Ever worn knock-offs or discount. (Smirks as she pushes perfectly manicured hand through shiny, sleek hair)

Erin: (Takes a drink). Hunger games T-shirt for book report for seventh grader. Biddie(13) had to create original designs based on characters from the book, print her designs onto transfers and iron them on. They were originals, but you can’t get more discount than ink-jet transfers on Wal-Mart t-shirts.

Innocent 3: O. Kay. (looks at Innocents 1 and 2 with scarcely concealed horror)

Innocent 4: Never Have I Ever seen a musical. (Clearly lying or overcompensating for something.)

Ellen: Just hand me the bottle. I’m living in High School Musical, and Coco is only in 8th grade. Last year, Leader of the Pack: 5 times. This year, Bye Bye Birdie: 5 times. I love you, Drama, oh yes I do.

Wait, I’ll take another party foul drink, because I actually do love it.

Innocent 5: Never Have I Ever abused any balls.

Ellen: Oh Sweetie. Party foul for wince-producing flirting and/or poor attempt at double entendre. On second thought, I’ll take the drink for my snarkalicious judgment. You’re young and perky; you can totally pull off a line like that.

Erin-whispers to Ellen: But only for about 5 more years. Snicker, snicker.

Innocent 2: Slow down on the party foul drinks, Lady. After this tequila, all we have is a garbage can full of grain and Kool-Aid.

Fraternity House Punch Bowl

Erin: (Takes a drink) Hey, back off. Do you want her to start talking about the Rube Goldberg thing again? Oh, and back to the balls,  fill me up, because I helped Charlie(11) cut an old foam ball in half to create a model of the animal cell.

Innocent 1: I don’t think that is what she meant…

Erin: It’s a DRINKING game (speaking slowly just in case she’s a little slow). Now pass the bottle.

Innocent 6 (clearly here only because her roommates think she spends too many Saturday nights at the library or babysitting): Never Will I Ever Force My Child to Pursue Something She is Not Passionate About.

The Sisterhood: GROAN!

Ellen and Erin: PARTY FOUL! No future tense. You don’t KNOW what you’ll do.

Ellen: Going to take two drinks for this one. Just to numb the pain. I forced Jellybean (11) to join Science Olympiad; to push her beyond her desires for perfection. I thought it was an activity where she could learn and create without worrying about the grade on the report card.  But I am paying for it. I am now teaching fifth graders epidemiology.

The Sisterhood: By unanimous vote, we vetoed the idea of hitting up Red Box and just having them watch Contagion.

Innocents: Next!

Erin: Never Have I Ever built a salinometer.

All of the Innocents in unison: WHO let all of these chicks in here!?!

Ellen (Takes a drink): Score a third drink for Science Olympiad. We constructed one out of drinking straws and modeling clay. It took two hours. I could have gotten one on Amazon for $15.95 in 15 seconds. AND it was eligible for Free Super Saving Shipping. I could have added that callous buffer I’ve had my eye on to the cart and been good to go.

We love you Amazon, oh yes we do!

I have advanced science degrees and six summers working in a marine biology lab on my resume and I’m having a hard time finding the worth in this. I have to avoid eye contact with the girls when I proclaim, “This is a great learning experience.”

Innocent 4: Maybe you should say it with jazz hands. Jazz hands make everything more convincing.

Innocent 2: Yeah,  you’ve never seen a musical! But more importantly, DON’T ENCOURAGE THEM!

Erin: At this point, we have finished off the bottle of tequila and have moved onto slurping up the garbage can of grain with the leftover drinking straws from the salinometer project.

The Sisterhood: Um, I think we’re about to get bounced from this shindig.

Ellen: You can throw us out, but if you procreate, we are your future.

Innocents run screaming from the room with hands over ears.

 Erin: Pipe down! We’re leaving. But just be grateful we didn’t bring the “Never Have I Ever: The Midnight Feedings/Mastitis/Explosive Poops Edition.”

 

 

 

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