National Talk Like a Pirate Day: Audrey style

Ahoy Maties!

So apparently today is National Talk Like a Pirate Day! Who knew such a thing existed?

Apparently Audrey, that’s who. Only she was a few days early to the party because this incident happened on Monday and I knew I had to write about it.

I have a disease called procrastination. I can’t help it. If you would like to donate to my charity (title TBD at a later date), I would greatly appreciate it. But I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for the Thank You note.

Audrey is getting to that age where you don’t know what is going to come out of her mouth. The age where she recognizes everything, asks a million questions, completely unfiltered. It’s lead to some interesting (ie. awkward) conversations about things such as my bathroom activites and the status of my nether regions. So I knew it was a matter of time before I had to address one of these curveballs in public.

On Monday we were at the grocery store picking over some produce and I hear Audrey yell, “PIRATE!!! GRRRR!!!!”

Not knowing what the hell she was talking about I look over to see a man standing very close to us with an eye patch.

Like an i’m-not-being-cutsie-or-humorously-costumie-but-I-actually-have-some-sort-of-eye-issue eyepatch.

That’s when I booked it out of the area saying things like “Hey! How about some cheese! You want some cheese?! Ooh look at all the CHEESE!!”

And just in case you were wondering, no, I’m not certain he heard her although we were very close so he probably did. He didn’t look like a very happy pirate so I didn’t stick around to find out.

Pirates can be grumpy in that way, I guess.

Other happenings on this grocery store trip included her telling everyone she came across in the store that she has Pull Ups because she goes peepee on the big potty and her calling the ice cream aisle “daddy”.

In the future I will be more aware of my surroundings.

If you would like more information on National Talk Like a Pirate Day you can check here or here!



Fantasy Football is serious business…

Fantasy Football is serious business…

If you have been following me for any amount of time you have figured out that I am married to a very funny man.

Very funny.

Often times at my expense as you have witnessed here and here and here.

But I came across this little gem of his the other day and had to share it with you.

A little back ground here…we are football people in our house. Like big time. We spend all year prepping ourselves for the fantasy season and even I am in 2 leagues.

So I guess there was a little snaffu with one of his SIX leagues in that their commish put a freeze on their wavers until all league fees were paid…chaos and comedy ensued.

This was my husband’s public post on the leagues blog in response to the commish’s actions…


Commish: My Evil Dolls Make The Rules

Commish and his dolls plotting.

“Draft time changes, league fee due dates, don’t ask me,  I don’t make them, my dolls do.” Said Commish when asked about suspending waivers for teams who have not paid league fees after week one.

Reporter: What about the confusion with the draft? Could it be that there was a miscommunication between the league and the owners about the draft time when there were so many of them confused about the draft date and time?

Commish: My dolls sent out an email, ask them.

Reporter: What about the league fees. Could it be that once again there was a miscommunication, and suspending waivers for this week is a bit harsh?

Commish: Dolls!

Owners have insured Commish that the check is in the mail, but commish won’t budge.

“The dolls told everyone in the bylaws that no one reads and that no one can find, and in the fast scrolling and ever changing league draft instant chat which happened when everyone was drunk at night on a weekend, when the fees were due.” –  commish explained when asked if he thought his orders might have been slightly unclear.

At this moment, waivers still have not run for those who have not paid. Also Commish has not commented on the obvious fix for these minor complications, a brief post on the league webpage that everyone sees when setting their lineups.

The owners say they understand that running a “fantasy” football league (“it’s not fantasy, it’s real” – Owners FatKatz and Papp Razzi agree) is much like herding cats, and identify with the commish on the actions taken, and his frustration in his volunteer role. “I know he could be really pissed because he’s a Michigan Wolverine fan, and because they suck balls, but I just really want a new wide receiver bad” stated one anonymous source.”Why else would he hire dolls?”

At this moment it remains a rush to the mailbox, or whatever source of payment the dolls may come up with next. But, the owners hope to badger Commish, and his dolls enough to make him change his mind.

God bless Commish, and God bless ‘MERICA!

- Joe Mamma


God bless ‘Merica indeed!



What do you say?

What do you say?

In the past 2 days I have had two “what am I supposed to say?” moments in two completely different settings. And I am currently still at a loss for both.

The other day my little Audrey had swim class which we tend to get to a bit early as I never know how long the drive is going to take. Lucky for the kid, they have a little play area with toys and such to keep the little freaks occupied before we unleash them on their swim coaches and savor the 30 minutes of uninterrupted Facebook time.

That day I had a harsh glimpse into the future: mean girls.

There was Audrey, running and smiling, so excited that there were a few other girls playing “tea party” or some crap and she wanted to join in. I watch her sit down at the mini table and pick up a cup and…que the girl losing her shiz on my baby.

I mean really losing it.

Her dad chimed in before I had a chance to and told her to play ‘play nicely with the baby’.

“I don’t want to! She can’t play with us! NO!”

WTH kid? Really? Then I was left with a “what do I say” moment? Do I get up and say it’s OK, no worries, my baby didn’t want to play with you B’s anyway? Do I kick that little brat in the shins then run away before her dad could catch me?

Or do I do what I did and realize that it’s not my battle to fight. I kept quiet and watched to see what Audrey will do.

In true Audrey fashion she got up, brushed it off and found something new to play with by herself.

She could have cared less.

My two year old has this amazing indifference to jerk-faces that I admire so much. I’ve seen her display it time and time again. I’m not sure if it’s the age, maybe she just doesn’t notice it or maybe she just doesn’t know enough to care, either way she never ceases to amaze and teach me.

How could you be mean to this face?

I doubt I will ever stop wanting to stick her in my pocket to protect her from all things bitchy but that’s not life. Like me, you, all of us, she is going to have to figure it out on her own. I’m not always going to be there which is a good thing because judging by my instant gut reaction to this menial crime, I would end up in need of a good lawyer.

To quote the great Laura Willard, “Being a parent is emotionally exhausting.”

Today, however, was a whole different situation all together.

Today is September 11th, 2012. The eleventh anniversary of that terrible day and it still gets me. Last year I cried all day, this year I decided I would take Audrey to pay our respects in a tiny way. We went to the Memorial Field in Tempe, AZ.

Each of the flags had a card with the name of an individual that died that day and a short paragraph about them.

I went from flag to flag reading, soaking it all it, getting to know these people who were lost, grieving with the other people around me.

The cards were awesome. They said things like “She was excited about visiting the set of Emeril Lagasse’s cooking show on the Food Channel” and “He had an expert ear and the party-planning skills of a born impressario”.

This one was one of my favorites…

…”and was an incorrigible romantic when it came to matchmaking.”

As I walked around reading name after name, seeing teddy bears tied to flags to signify the children lost that day, lost in my own thought, Audrey stopped and asked me, “What’s that”, like she does about 50 bazillion times a day. (“It’s a truck.” “It’s a tree.” “It’s a giant sign that says, ‘stop asking your mother questions.'”)

This time I answered, “It’s a flag. It’s very special.”


I got off easy this year. I know in a few years when this day comes she will want to know more, possibly to know why and who but I don’t know what I’m going to tell her. How do you explain that level of hate and terror to someone who has known nothing but love, kindness and a few bitchy four year olds?

On our way out I saw a random man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, take a bugle out of a hard case and play Military Taps.

Dammit, I almost made it to the car without weeping.

 A few weeks ago when I went to the BlogHer convention, I made it a point to visit the memorial. There was more security than I was expecting, it was quite a process to just get to it. But then you walk into the actual park and you are struck by two things: the massive size of the actual memorials and how increadibly quiet it is. There were people everywhere, walking, sitting, touching the names of the lost, but nobody seemed to talk.
Today, like everyone else, I remember the fallen, their families and those who have chosen to put themselves in harms way in the war on terror.
“You can be sure that the American spirit will prevail over this tragedy.” -Colin Powell