My mom passed away at 42. 42 years old. Obviously this was a defining moment in the path of my life. I was 15 years old. My brother was only 10. Right up till her last breath she was thinking of my brother and I and where we would be after she wouldn’t be here with us and now as a mom I think of all the other things she probably worried about.

That’s about as short as I can tell that part of my life and I say it to get to this. I have a weird anxiety thing about death and dying. Step in to my crazy for a minute…

Because she and my father both passed away younger than average I have this constant little voice in my head saying “what if you died?” It’s taken me many years to get to where I am in my life and I can honestly say it’s not that I’m depressed (maybe just under medicated), I’m truly not. I am very blessed with a wonderful husband, three beautiful and healthy children, more amazing friends and family than I can count, a church family that we love, a business I enjoy, a home, cars, food, health, etc. I am blessed and I am truly happy.

But it’s always in the back of my head.

To make matters worse, I went to college for Forensic Biology. So I learned about death and dying and freakish ways people have died… I’m weird, I get it. Humor me.

This all being said I have some concerns for my family if I should pass on earlier than the typical life span. I feel confident that family and friends will be willing to help with meals, rides, etc. I am concerned about everyday stuff. The little things.

This struck me while I was searching in the medicine cabinet for something for an unnamed adult in my house. He asked, “do we have any Tums?” To be fair, it’s not actually a cabinet it’s a closet and there is a lot (Read: twelve tons) of stuff in there and they were behind a few (Read: a million) other things. But there they were, right where they should be.

“Mom, where’s my IPad?” Plugged in to the wall, right where it should be.

“Mom, where is my favorite stuffed animal I sleep with?!?” In your bed, right where it should be.

“Where are the babies socks?” In her sock drawer, right where they should be.

Moms have a super power of being able to see the “invisible,” am I right?!?

Let’s paint a picture- Me unloading the van after school. I have the baby on my hip (flailing), my purse (Read: basically a diaper bag), actual diaper bag, preschool bag, a book bag, a water bottle, a baby bottle that’s empty, a baby bottle with just water in it in case we get stranded on 77 at a total stop over the lake (it’s awful but it happens, see photo below), extra formula, snacks, stickers, glitter with an undetermined source, someone else’s shoes, coloring books, and a tent in case we get lost (kidding on that one).

At least the view is pretty even if the soundtrack is scream squealing.

Back to the garage…

Kid 2: “Can you carry my artwork? It’s too heavy.” (It’s a sheet of construction paper but the Oscar worthy performance would lead you to believe it’s a life sized statue made of granite and he needs to be able to carry a Happy Meal Toy with both hands).

Me: “I don’t have any more room to carry…”

Kid 2: “But it’s so heavy…” whine cry meltdown because nap was not taken…

Me: “Ok, can you please just open the door to the house for me?”

Kid 2: Slow motion fall to knees as though I have asked for him to pluck out each hair on his head individually. “Why do I have to do everything?!?”

I do also have concerns for Kid 1’s hair and all of their finger & toe nails will be overgrown and probably start to curl like those people in the Guinness Book of World Records (Is that even still a thing? I mean the book, not the curling nails.)

My home would likely become a toilet paper free zone because the little humans wouldn’t know where the supply is kept. I like to hide it in places like under the bathroom sink, right where it should be.

Who will fill out the permission slips?

Who will set up the birthday wish lists?

Who will compile all the artwork and school papers brought home till an acceptable time has passed and it’s ok to sort out the ones that should be kept, and donate the rest to the “people that don’t have artwork” (Read: recycling bin)?

Who will schedule their Well Checks and also take them and hold their arms while they get their vaccines (the worst but I’ll take it over Epiglottitis any day)?

Who will order new shoes when they grow out of the current ones?

Who will fill out their baby books as they grow (truth time, I’m behind on this, like a whole kid behind. She does have a book and we have taken lots of pictures though)?

Who will answer, “Hey mommy, momma, mom, mom, MOOOOOOM” 8,903 Times each day?

Who will have mom guilt for not getting all the things done everyday?!?

So obviously this is all stuff pretty much anyone could do, but these are a few of my mom duties. Often frustrating, sometimes exhausting, usually laughable, always rewarding.

I feel these are the things my mom and I would laugh about if she were still around and she would say things like, “Ah yes, I remember those days” with a smile.

So, cheers to all the mommas out there! To the step-mommas, flight-mommas, grandmommas, ladies that function as the mommas, soon to be mommas, desperately want to be mommas, mommas of angels, and teachers (because from August to June they do a lot of momma stuff too). Even to the fellas that do all the work of mommas too.

I see you and I heart you! May your families treat you extra special this Mother’s Day (and always, duh).

If something does happen to me (I’m a klutz so after you stop laughing that I some how met my demise while curling my hair or walking in to something) I’m gonna need someone to make a signupgenius for you all to take turns making sure my kids aren’t left sitting in the floor in level 5 meltdown mode because they can’t find their socks. (The blue ones, NOT.THE.AQUA.ONES).

Do me a solid and check the toilet paper rolls too.

Am I the only one that thinks like this?

In the mean time I’ll be here looking for the funny and love in these little mom moments, right where I should be.

Now go hug your mommas.

This photo was last Mothers Day. The day I came home from the hospital as a mom of three.

*I do hide the Reese Cups though, top of the freezer door.*

E decided today that she neeeeeeeded the My Little Pony game on her tablet.

To be noted- she has an MLP game on there already, I’m pretty sure she just thought I would eventually give in and just let her play on my iPad. I did not.

“I need to eat my breakfast and have coffee first,” I said (because kids that think there may be snow but can’t get out of bed Monday-Friday get up at 5:30 on Saturday.

20 seconds later, “Done yet?”

“Not quite yet, I would like to drink my coffee.”

“But you finished your oatmeal!”

So this goes on for as long as I can take it and I finally try to figure out how to add this game. This is a weird device so you have to DL it in Amazon Apps and then find it and did I mention I needed coffee still?

“Storage Almost Full!”

Hmmmm… So I start to check out where it was being used and it almost all in photos and videos.

So then I spent my morning checking and deleting all the bajillion photos and videos she and Sam have taken. I shall call this gallery-

Why take one when you can take 30?

A selection of some of the creative photography for you…

“Selfies”

“Thumb”

“Blankie Bear”

“Darkness, part 1 of 16,000”

“Back of Sam”

“Fan”

“Pink towel in natural state”

“LuLaRoe Show”

“Brain rotting”

And my personal favorite, that went along with several VIDEOS as well.

“Ellie stop taking pictures in the dressing room after swim leasons!”

Sooooo many pictures. I won’t even share the videos with you. There was a lot of Blair Witch Project style short clips of Ellie talking in MLP character voices.

So that’s what I did today, how was your Saturday morning?

A friends model quality picture totally reminded me of this and I thought it deserved to be a blog post. I’ve been slack but I have a running list of topics I want to post about when I have the time. I needed to take some time off from the blog so that it wouldn’t be totally graphic posts (stick with me, it is unrelated to these topics) about childbirth, nursing, and young children. And frankly, I’m just tired and my offspring may possibly be making me dumber and crazier. I’m pretty sure they have a schedule on who freaks out when. They know exactly how many days I can go without showering before it directly involves their noses and my complete lack of sanity. The trifecta of unhappiness is yet another post I need to write… But I have derailed. I’m going to keep this very shortish and simple. It’s a story about the humor in life and also the amazing people I am blessed to have as parents, by their own CHOICE. My mom & dad separated and divorced when I was young. Both parents went on to remarry wonderful people. We spent the majority of our school years living primarily with my mom and my step-dad, Tom. 

My mom passed away when I was 15 and my brother was 10 from breast cancer. She truly battled it three times. The majority of ages 8-15 for me greatly involved stages of her cancer or remission. True story, my first date dropped me off at the hospital to see my mom after. And, my first day of high school she was diagnosed with a reoccurrence. 

We knew she was terminally ill. She had days towards the end where she was in and out of coherence but she constantly asked where we wanted to live after she passed. I was too in denial to really believe it would happen so a final decision wasn’t made. After she passed, my brother and I ended up staying with Tom with my real dad’s very gracious blessing. He saw it was better for us not to be uprooted (this is the short version remember). 

There was a lot of sadness and heartbreak but there is also a lot of humor in my life. My mom and dad were both incredibly funny people so I really feel like they would appreciate all the humor and who knows, maybe they helped orchestrate some of it. 

Anyway, more on all of that in a book because ain’t nobody got time to read a blog post that long. 

So fast forward to age 20ish? I was living at home (the one I grew up in from 8 on in NC). I took a break from college and was working full time and taking classes part time at the community college to save money. I later went back full time to a small private (read: $$$$$) college so I’m not sure where my brain was at on that financial move but they had the major I wanted. That’s kind of a funny story too, but one for another day.

So by this time Tom had re-married. (When I was 17 actually) And I’m not even kidding when I say it was to his first wife, Joan. They (re-)married in March of my senior year of high school. It wasn’t a quick decision, Joan moved to the area and got to know my brother and I before (she wasn’t crazy, we could have been total teenage psychopaths). Tom very thoughtfully talked to us about him dating again and our thoughts and feelings. While I was a bratty teenager that knew everything I at least had the sense to know that my mom would have wanted Tom to be happy. And I really do believe she had a hand in sending Joan to us.

So I’m living with my brother, step-dad, and step-step-mom in the house I grew up in. I’m 20ish and things aren’t going according to my perfect life plan. Everyone got along, I just wasn’t headed to Med School like I thought I would be. I was working full time while my friends were all away at college. 

Tom and Joan are both saints, for endless reasons. The most obvious and basic in regard to this story is that they raised (reared, whatev) two teenagers that were not their own biologically. By choice. TEENAGERS. Seriously. Joan didn’t come in and remove all the family pictures with my mom in them (they are still there now despite that my brother and I have said it’s ok with us for them to come down or even if they wanted to move). 

So, on the fridge there were the normal family pictures of cousins and friends. Notes, announcements, etc… There was this small red magnetic heart frame there as well. The frame still had the photo that came in it. One day I jokingly asked Joan & Tom if they planned to ever put a legit photo in it. I wish you could see their faces with the combination of confusion and sarcasm as the following conversation took place.

Joan- “But that’s a picture of you?!?” 

Me- “Nope.”

Tom- “That’s you when you were little.”

Me- “Nope” (cue the laughter)

Joan- “Are you sure?!?”

Me- “I’m pretty sure I know myself.” (removing the CARDBOARD photo to show them).

Laughter. 

For 5 years some cute (she did look like me, ha) little picture frame model held a spot on the fridge because they really thought it was me. They didn’t know me at that age in the photo. And in fairness, she looked like me. That’s funny stuff. And it shows their hearts at the same time, not taking down all the memories even though it had to be very awkward for them both. 

Always look for the funny, or you will go crazy. Or just embrace the crazy.

PS- My kids get their chunk cheeks honestly.

Happy 1st of July! 

Happy 2nd of July!

Happy 3rd of July!

Anyone see a theme here? We don’t usually co-sleep. 

I never really cared about fireworks one way or the other. With kids (the dog is unphased thankfully) I am NOT a fan.  

For just a few minutes I’m going to let my crazy out…

Some background for you on my mental status today. All the stuff “they” say about pregnant women waking up a million times at night to pee or because they are generally uncomfortable or because the baby is doing some sort of gymnastics event in her tummy…

ALL TRUE. I have always been a terrible sleeper/insomniac. Pregnancy makes me exhausted (like every other expectant mother or person shot with elephant grade tranquilizer darts) but I still can’t sleep. On top of that my children have been in cahoots (word?) to re-train us on the sleeping habits of a newborn baby. So nice of them. The Hulk has been coming in our room every night for several months right after we hit the nearly deep sleep phase. I talked about this in a previous post how some kids flail around and some hurdle over one parent and land in the middle barely noticeable, that’s him. He will even pull out all the stops and snuggles and gives kisses and says things like, “I wub you so much. You make my heart happy.” And we all drift back off to dream land too tired to address the bad habit. Then an hour or so later he is sleeping perpendicular to us in the middle (forming appropriately the letter “H” for Hulk Hoegler). Someone likely has feet in their face or randomly gets an open handed face slap and no one sleeps well. So one of us (usually Steve because he is on the feet side and it takes a team of 4 cross fitters to help me sit up) takes him back to his bed and we repeat this cycle again in an hour. The last week we have been determined to end this. So as soon as he comes in we take him right back. This went on 5 times in 20 minutes one night this weekend. The 5th time I happened to have taken him back and I sat in the chair in his room so he would settle in and I promptly fell asleep sitting straight up. So last night, in addition to that craziness Tater Tot woke up three times with night terrors. Nothing says adrenaline rush like a 4.5 year old screaming and flailing and not even recognizing you like night terrors. You aren’t supposed to wake them, or are you who knows and I can’t think clearly when being screamed at at 2:30am. It’s like a tiny little flash back to her days of colic. Add in some preggo lady acid reflux and me attempting to sleep in a recliner and I figure I got 12 minutes of sleep last night. 

I’m still not entirely convinced that Steve didn’t swap out the coffee with decaf either… I drink one cup a day and I promise it’s broken.

So here the kids and I are driving down a busy Huntersville main road at 4:45pm because I had a brief nurse visit at the doctors office. They didn’t run a test on my sample they were supposed to so I needed to go back. My nerves are shot from taking two unhappy mini humans with me to the doctor. I had to supply a urine sample. They both stared at me with their ears covered (thank you automatic flushing potties for traumatizing my children) judging me and yelled (because you have to talk louder when you cover your ears) questions like, “What are you doing, ew?!?” Or “That’s a lot of TINKLES!” “Is that cause you are pregnant?!” “ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR TINKLES?” I’m sincerely sorry lobby guests. Or, your welcome for the entertainment. 

Where was I… Hulk just needed help getting the Kindle from only displaying things in Japanese (possibly, I couldn’t read it so who knows). That reminds me of some funniness about my kids only wanting to watch Sonic the Hedgehog in SPANISH (which they don’t speak or understand) lately but that’s another post…

Ah yes, so I’m tired, I’m at the end of the day level of patience and que the bad drivers. I.Just.Can’t.

I can actually see the lady in the very tiny busted up car in front of me messing with her phone while we are in stop and go traffic. Not stopped traffic. Not a stoplight. Stop and go. After the third time she stopped abruptly without cause and a full 5 lengths back from the car in front of her leaving me stopped in an intersection (typical first child here, I’m a rule follower and I get twitchy about stuff like that) I started having the visions. 

Visions of me exiting my vehicle and yanking the phone from her hand and throwing a Cam Newton quality (2015 season, 2016 didn’t go as well or really, maybe more like Johhny Football in 2016 because I’m not all that coordinated, see what I did there?) pass of said phone into oblivion while yelling like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. It was definitely a “train the new officer day” for the HPD because I saw this one SUV all over today with people stopped. Had the new guy collared me I could have made his career. Headline- “Decorated young officer saves town from hormonal rage!”

Hormones, sleep deprivation? Maybe. What is wrong with people? That’s rhetorical, the answers are endless. I realized I probably need some lavender or perhaps a calming oil in my life. Maybe even a sedative or some anger management classes. Back to real life, I hear from the back seat, “Lady, was your deal?!?” (Hulk) Oh bless my heart. I’m teaching my kids such useful things. 

Just thought I would let you all in on where I’m at on the crazy scale in case you see me on the news. Feel free to set up a donation account for my legal defense. I really worry Steve might leave me in jail so he can eliminate one of the the three people that are keeping him from sleeping well. Actual Steve quote from my first pregnancy, “do you REALLY need to pee that often or is it just in your head?”

If you are reading this in traffic in a beat up car I’m looking at you. Put the phone down and I will put down the 40lbs purse full of snacks, water cups, and diaper wipes, matchbox cars, and a sensible shade of lip gloss (with sunscreen of course) that I’m considering going old lady violent on you with. 

Let me just go tuck my crazy back in. 

So today my 4.5 year old asked a question. 

“Mommy, do all pregnant ladies have yellow teeth?” 

She is really VERY sweet natured so the sad part is that she was just asking a question after making an observation. Ugh. (I’ll just be over here with my jaw clenched shut now)

So I start a search of the interwebs on teeth whitening during pregnancy. It appears to be frowned upon, like all fun stuff (bungee jumping, donating blood, eating deli meat from the fridge, climbing to the top of lighthouses… the list is endless). 
This brings me to my first point for today-

I’m going to start a new search engine and it will be called…

 “Asking for a friend.” 

Or, “AFAF” for short. Because then you don’t feel weird searching for pictures of rashes (you know who you are) or how long to bake a potato (this is me, every time I use the oven to bake them, sad). 

Thank me later, this is a golden idea. I just need to learn how to work the interwebs and some minor computer design stuff. I mean Siri is often not that helpful (she doesn’t speak southern) and her directions are terrible. Every time I attempt to have use the talk to text feature and text my brother (Carl Schweppe, that last “e” is pronounced) I get this-

HE?!? No! 

AND she has no sense of humor. My sight will feature a touch of sarcasm. That’s a lie, it’s going to be really sarcastic. “If you don’t know that I’m not going to tell you, and perhaps your shouldn’t be allowed to live by yourself yet.” That idea might not take off, we’ll see.

This brings me to point two for today-

It’s really more of a question for all legit medical personnel (so don’t be looking this up on “AFAF”). There is a very common medicine out there, let’s call it “ahseetalenol,” that is pretty much the only medication preggos are allowed to take. 

Heachade? Take one, drink 4 gallons of water and lay on your left side. Cold? Take one, drink 5 gallons of water and lay on your left side. Bleeding from your tear ducts? Take two, drink 4 gallons of water, and lay on your left side. Kidding, they would most likely need you in quarantine first before they would give you the “ahseetalenol.”  

You get the point though. This is really the only thing that is probably allowed for a preggo to take for teeth whitening. And we both (me & and my one reader) know it’s not going to help whiten teeth. 

My question is this- is it a placebo? Maybe just text me or email me if you don’t want to spoil the joke for everyone else. I am not convinced it does anything. I feel like I have a right to know. I’m sort of in the medical field, I have a degree in Forensic Biology and I got my CNA. My mom was a nurse. Her mom was a nurse. Most of my mom’s family works in the medical field, someone help a sister out! 

Is it a sugar pill?!? I feel I have a better shot at curing a headache by finding unicorn tears than I do taking this one allowed medication. Preggos, am I right?!? 

Point three- I apologize to E’s teachers, friends, and any paleontologists. I had on this shirt during our breakfast discussion of yellow teeth.

(This photo was from Nerd Years Eve 2011 when we told friends that we were expecting E. Let’s not spend too much time on 4.5 year old style observations “You have yellow hair, mommy.” We were young, well rested, recently showered, and had a significantly less gray hair and wrinkles.)

Not only can E not read it but the humor is totally lost on 4.5 year olds anyway. She thought it was a dinosaur. I’m glad the school unit on dinos was a few weeks ago because she now thinks that pregnant dinosaurs are called “pregzillas,” and they probably have yellow teeth too. 

I believe there are three types of preschoolers in the world.

Type One-

Wakes up randomly in the middle of the night, yells like a banshee till a parent or perhaps some sort of first responder shows up to their bed. When the adult gets there they are either sleeping again, having a night terror (dear heavens don’t try to wake them), or wanted to tell you about the grand galloping gala tomorrow for Polly Neigh Hay and the My Little Pony crew… in extreme detail. Oh yeah, and then they have to go to the bathroom. 

Type Two-

Wakes up randomly, quietly collects all belongings of importance and slithers down the hall to parents room. Stands next to bed with face 3 inches from parent SILENTLY till their warm breath on your face awakens you to see creepy silent horror film style kid triggering a rush of fear and endorphins strong enough to lift an adult rhino, and therefore rendering further sleep humorous. You then realize they are mostly naked and they hand you wet pajamas and inform you they had an accident. 

Type Three-

Wakes up, sprints at a pace that would qualify them for some countries Olympic track teams to parents room, hurdles parent one (again, Olympic quality movements) and lands in the middle of the bed. Possibly even already back asleep and cuddling with one parent. (“Let’s nuggle”) while the other parent endures ninja style surprise chops to the face and/or groinular region for the rest of the night. 

Maybe there are more types but this is what we are dealing with. They like to switch it up who is which type kid. BOLO. Don’t get comfy or dare settle in to R.E.M. sleep, they have sensors and are prepared and waiting for this. You do this and you are going to wake up to hear the water running and smell the distinct smell of a permanent marker in the air. Is it on the newly painted walls, is it on the dog, their sibling, your own face? Don’t be that guy. 

In other news, while driving recently E asked me where the eyes in the back of my head are. I’m not even sure where she heard that. But I’m glad that she knows. Maybe Polly Neigh Hay told her about it. 

They aren’t sleeping, they are reloading. Look alive parents. 

Yesterday was our 7th anniversary (Steve and I of course). As I was getting ready to go to dinner E came upstairs to “help me.” She offered to help me find a dress. She then started asking about my wedding dress. She has seen it before and understands I wore it for our wedding but the idea of a wedding is still a strange concept.  Last week I blew her mind when she pointed out that Steve and I have different mommies. I told her that yes, you marry someone that has a different mommy. She looked perpelexed and then stated she would probably marry one of our friends two sons then. 

So back to yesterday I unzipped the bag so she could see my wedding dress.

E- “WOW! That’s so pretty! Are you going to wear it tonight?!”

Me- No honey, I don’t think I would fit in it right now. 

E-Yeah your belly is a little big, maybe you can wear it at your next wedding. 

Well ok then. I was just planning on the one. 

Let’s step back for a second to a TRUE story about young Lauren. 

One lovely day I was at a large full Catholic Church service (from the many versions I have heard of this you would think it was like Easter Sunday but I think it was just a regular Sunday). Anywho, I must have been less than cooperative and a little chatty. My mom said, “Lauren, do you want to go to the little girls room?” :::READ- Get it together kid, do you want to go to the bathroom for a spanking, you are embarrassing me:::

Young Lauren then responded in a louder tone (and possibly with a smile, but that may have been added in for dramatic effect when it was retold)- 

“Mommy, don’t beat me till I bleed again!”***

***I was never beaten. Maybe a light spanking at most. No idea where that came from. Various family members can vouch that they heard the story from my mom. 

But my mortified mom couldn’t touch me and made sure she was seen holding me (neither screaming or bleeding) while people exited the service.

So let’s just say I have it coming and I know it. 

Today we were in a hurry before preschool and Bible study. I had to run in to the grocery store to pick up some cream cheese. We had started the get ready/breakfast routine earlier to allow for a stop to pick-up bagels (and any unexpected nausea, ha). Things were timing out well till I realized I didn’t have cream cheese. Mother of pearl! (One of the many mommed up bad words I say in my head). 

I could bail on the cream cheese and feel like a jerk at Bible Study or we could do an Usain Bolt style sprint through the grocery store and hopefully only be a few minutes late to preschool. Sorry preschool, maybe one day I will get it together. Not today. 

Picture the 5 months pregnant lady nearly dragging the 4 and 2.5 year old to the back of the store where the cream cheese is. S wanted to walk but as any mother can tell you, when you are in a hurry it’s like they suddenly are stuck  in quick sand in slow motion. Why?!? They literally run everywhere else? Anyway… as I am carrying him he YELLS to the whole store. 
“My butt hurts, mommy you hurt my BUTT!” 

What? I don’t even know what that means. I never touched his butt. I apologize good people at the Harris Teeter. Thank you for not calling anyone on us. My mom probably had a hearty giggle from that one. I’m sure I will have far worse embarrassments to come too. 

Sam then informed me he was excited to go to church “to see his boys.”  This kid. 

There has been a lot of Monday in my Tuesday. 

Let’s talk about something that strikes FEAR in roughly 90% (totally made up) of people…

That moment when you go to take a photo but the camera is on “selfie” mode and you are met with whatever amazingly awkward face you make when trying to take a photo. And if the intended object of the photo is your child (two or four legged), multiply the look of frustration and anxiety and add in extra gray hair for toddlers and teenagers. “One second kids, hold still while I open the camera app, AHHHH, who let Sloth from the Goonies in here?!” 
I think that this is a trick that “unnamed major phone manufacturers” use and secretly monitor. There is probably a wall or a website for employees only of “unnamed major phone manufacturer” where they auto post to. Oh the LOL’s they must have at the expense of us normal folks. Perhaps I need to up my anxiety meds and consult my doctor about paranoia? 
Really though, want to really see that double chin you have? This is the way. Think those hours at the gym and all those salads are paying off, nope. Nopity nope nope. Perhaps you are a pregnant stay at home mom and you showered and have on makeup and are feeling pretty okay about things. BAM, hello wrinkles and adult acne, wow so pale too! Maybe that’s just me.
Let’s also talk about the other 20% (again, statistic is totally made up and I can’t remember what I said before). These are the people that see this unexpected selfie view and think, “Hey there hot stuff, lookin good.” I envision them doing the finger gun Shooter McGavin thing too. You know this person. We all know them. We love hate them. Bless their hearts. :::eye roll::: You might be pretty on the outside but ugly in your heart and ugly is forever people. I kid, Jesus can help with the ugly inside. 
If you have never experienced this fear I speak of I know how you can re-create the look. Set your phone on selfie mode and then try to open a pickle jar. Or any jar, but if it’s pickles I will help you eat them (unless it’s bread and butter style, gross, have you no taste?!?) I digress… 

It’s not pretty. If you don’t laugh till you cry at the pure ridiculousness of your expression we probably can’t be friends. Especially if you eat bread and butter pickles, ew.

Well… I have joked about starting a blog or writing a book of the shenanigans that are our daily life, so why not now?

My “luck” with weird electronic stuff has struck again. I have some news (not really bad or good, more entertaining than anything). Our Christmas cards are going to be more of a New Years Card this year. I didn’t forget, I didn’t even screw it up. A well known company is to blame for my “pain and anguish.” I ordered the cards and bought my stamps and was generally prepared to have them to friends and family ahead of Christmas. But they showed up like this. 

I just can’t. I thought it was just the top card. Nope, all 150 of them. My photos and our names, all missing. First I panicked. Did I go all preggo brain and submit them like that!?! No, I did check. 

Am I being punk’d? Where is Ashton?!?

After spending 20 minutes (when I should have been working on dinner) searching for a phone number to call and see what the deal was, I had to request a call back from them. It was immediate at least. 

This is basically how it went down.

“Hi, this is ‘Karen’ from ‘a big store you have heard of before’ customer service. May I speak with the person that requested the call back?”

“That’s me.”

“How can I help you today?” (Which I had to already write in detail in my request for a call)

“Well, I just got my Christmas cards I ordered and expedited and they are not correct.”

“What is incorrect about them?”

“They didn’t print the pictures or words I added, it’s just the blank template, or rather 150 of the blank template. They did print the return address on the envelopes correctly though.”

“I’m very sorry ma’am, let me pull up the order… blah blah blah… I will be glad to process a refund for you on this order.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

“Ok, the refund should show up within 5 business days. The good news is we don’t need those cards back so you CAN STILL USE THEM.” 

“Uh, sure thanks.”

“With photo orders we are unable to reorder the correct item for you because of the personal information on the cards. You are welcome to reorder the cards.”

 :::insert my eyes rolling back in to my head so far I saw my own brain:::

“I think I’m all set here Karen, thanks.”

“You will likely get an emailed survey on how I assisted you today. I would appreciate it if you would fill that out.”

“K, thanks bye.”

It wasn’t “Karens” fault that the company lacks quality control or better customer service policies. And she was very much following a script. But what am I going to do with a bunch of blank template cards? It was at this point the hilarity of the situation hit me and I started giggling. Then laughing. And Steve walks in and asks “What’s so funny about dinner?” But I can hardly retell the story because I’m crying I’m laughing so hard. Kind of in a psychotic pregnant lady emotional melt down way. Like ugly crying but with laughter? 

I did consider just having the kids draw self portraits on the blank cards and send them out. That also made me laugh. 

So, your cards will be late. 

I placed a new order with a different company. I refuse to expedite them though so I hope you enjoy them into the New Year. 

These are the cards that made me cry and burn the pancakes.  First world problems and all, I know.