Need a Chris Brown birthday card? Of course you do.

It’s about that time of the year again where I pretend that I am SUPER excited to turn yet another year older.  You know, that time of the year when people give you cards with ultra hilarious messages that are usually accompanied by an image of an old person doing something equally as hilarious?  Or maybe the card has a sweet and tender message accompanied by some form of soft baby animal.  I don’t know about you, but most greeting cards make me either roll my eyes or vomit in my mouth a little bit.  ANYONE can be a greeting card writer, which is why they are so bad.  Really, all you need to establish your career in this field are the following qualifications:

1.       You cannot be funny.

2.       You have to have a pulse.

3.       You must think that kittens are the most adorable creatures on the planet.

In my new-found old age, I’ve decided that if I am going to complain about something, I need to offer a solution.  My biggest problem with greeting cards is that they just seem so… INSINCERE.  My solution?  My NEW LINE of greeting cards… “Keepin' it real” by PMuff.   

Do you need a Chris Brown birthday card?  Of course you do.

Looking for that card for your rebellious teenager with just the right amount of "nag"?  Look no further!

What doctor's office DOESN'T need a hilarious wine IV card to send to their patients?

Here's one for that passive-aggressive spiteful sibling in your life (click to zoom)!

And of course, a birthday card for any special princesses you may know.  Secretly, princesses LOVE birthday cards even though sometimes they tell you differently. 

Princesses are SO high-maintenence.

TTFN, 

AMo

It’s been confirmed: I am awesome.

Well folks, it’s been confirmed.   Thanks to my girl Jess from the blog Ramblings of an Emotional Idiot, I am now 100% sure that I rock.  Why, you ask?  Jess has presented me with “The Cherry on Top” award!  And what exactly does this mean?  My 5 year old asked the same question when I told him about the confirmation of awesomeness.

Me: I won an award!

DMo: You DID!? For what?

Me: For some things that I wrote!

DMo: WOW!  Because you have great handwriting?

Me: Well… no…

DMo: Do you get a trophy or a medal?

Me: Um… well just this little button right here:

DMo: Oh... OK… Can I have a snack?

So my 5 year old obviously is too young to understand how awesome this honor that has been bestowed on me actually is.  He’ll understand in a few years.  You know, when he’s a teenager and in therapy due to my over-sharing blog.  His Dr. can explain how awesome this award was, I mean, I’m paying him enough- right?!  

Moving on from my rage over my non-existent overcharging therapist… there are two conditions for accepting this award.  The first is, I have to list three things I love about myself.  WHOA.  That’s going to be tough.  ONLY three things?  But I’ve just been confirmed awesome?!  OK, I’ll TRY.

1.       My hair.  I mean, just LOOK at it.  It’s like a glowing mane of awesomeness.  It has just the right amount of Microsoft Painted fluff to hold my tiara securely in place.  If I had to compare my hair to a majestic animal, I would be so bold as to say a unicorn.

2.       My kids.  They’re yet another extension of my awesomeness.  This award really belongs to them considering they write about 90% of my blog’s material.

3.       I love how down to Earth I am.  That is really hard to achieve when you are this awesome.

The other condition to this award is that I need to pass it along to 5 other bloggers that I adore.

1.       Southern MOMentum – The girls over at Southern MOMentum never fail to make me laugh.  Also, they have SUPER awesome contributing bloggers.  Check THIS ONE out- I dare say she is even MORE awesome than I am.

2.       The 21^st Century Mrs. – LOVE her blog!  And anyone that invents a game called Leprechaun Bingo is awesome in my book.

3.       Disco Lemonade – SumSum is not only hilarious, but she is also a fellow Michigan native.  Double awesome! I’m also giving her this award just to try and bribe her to write more often.  

4.       Yeah. Good Times – I think that my avatar and the Good Times avatar are distantly related cousins, what do you think?  Not only is this woman awesome, one post featured a cat vomiting a rainbow.  SOLD! 

5.     Ninja Mom Blog – Do I even need to give you a reason why this blog is awesome?  It’s called NINJA MOM BLOG.  Enough said.

That’s all I’ve got, peeps- happy Day After St. Patrick’s Day to you.  Take some aspirin, wipe off the day-old smeared mascara from your face, and for God’s sake BRUSH YOUR TEETH- you’ll feel better. 

And for any of you who were wondering, the word “awesome” was used 14 times in this post.  Awesome.  Make that 15.

TTFN, 

AMo

My semi-irrational fear of furniture salesmen

9 months ago, my husband and I flew to Georgia to perform our 3-day marathon house hunt.  Because we were moving from Ohio, we had very little time to look and even LESS time to make a decision.   We selected our house out of the billions we saw because we fell in love with the neighborhood.  The NEIGHBORHOOD- not the house.  It’s not that I don’t like our house; I just don’t particularly know how to furnish it.  Our previous house was about 1500 sq. ft. smaller than this one, so we have quite a few empty rooms.  My kids call them the “dance floor rooms”.  About a month ago, I was about to give up, hang disco balls on the ceilings, and start an underground rave.

Why would I give up, you ask?  Well, it’s simple.  The minute I walk into a furniture store, a wave of anxiety washes over me.   I know THEY are near.  

I am afraid of furniture salesmen.

After walking past my plethora of empty rooms this morning, I decided I’d had enough.  This fear of mine is irrational… right?  Furniture salesmen aren’t really THAT scary…  So I hopped in my car determined to buy what I WANTED, NOT what the salesman wanted me to buy.

As soon as I arrived, my palms got sweaty.  I felt nervous, but it was time to go in.

I should have turned around then, but I pressed forward.

 

I'm now a proud owner of a teal and rose sectional.  SURE I came in there for a dining room table, and yes I realize it doesn't match anything I own- but really, this sofa was the right purchase for me... my BFF salesperson said so.

Do disco balls go with teal?

TTFN,

AMo

Joe Biden is TOTALLY stalking me.

Did you know Joe Biden has a Facebook page?  No, not that fake FAN page… a REAL one.  He’s sort of under an “assumed name”, but I totally know it’s him.  I stumbled across it a few minutes ago accidentally while performing the Google search “Who is the Vice President?”  Yes, I KNOW… how irresponsible of me to not know who the Vice President is.  But hey, it’s not MY fault… he hasn’t shot anyone or invented the internet or ANYTHING!

So I thought I’d share a little of his page with you, you may need to click on the images to enlarge them.  Here’s his profile.  Apparently, he’s not a huge fan of Idaho.  

Here are some of his statuses.  Wait, that Miley Cyrus link ISN’T REAL?!

JDogg is also a fan of FourSquare.

Here are some of JDogg’s interests.  Who DOESN’T hate when someone secretly puts your name into the Goblet of Fire?!

Oh, hello…. What’s this?!

 Thanks, Joe Biden, I like you too!

Happy Friday, everyone!

TTFN,

AMo

Monkey Joe’s is the Devil.

I can’t believe it, my son turned 5 on Saturday.  Because we had been celebrating his birthday all month long, we decided that there would be no party on the actual date.  What I’d like to know is, when did birthdays turn into Mardi Gras?  When I was a kid, you got 1 DAY of celebration.  You know, your ACTUAL birthday. 

However, all of the prior celebrating was long forgotten when the actual day rolled around.

DMo:  I can’t WAIT for my party tomorrow!

Me:  D, we already celebrated your birthday.  You remember, at Disneyworld?  And again at school?  Is this ringing a bell?

DMo: But MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM, ALL 5 YEAR OLDS GO TO MONKEY JOE'S!  I WANT TO GO TO MONKEY JOOOOOOOOOOOOOE’S! PLEEEEASSSSSEEEEEEEEE?

Me: *Shudder*

If I had to describe hell, I think it would look a lot like the overcrowded bounce house of death that is Monkey Joe’s.  Look, I get it.  Bouncing is fun.  BUT bouncing with 500 other sugar-fueled children who are willing to crawl over your lifeless body to go down a slide is NOT.

However... because I felt a tad guilty about not having a birthday party for my son, we decided to extend DMopalooza and headed to Monkey Joe’s.

As soon as I stepped in the door, I realized that the next two hours of my life would be sheer torture.  I remember thinking that they should offer armor or fake sumo suit rentals- I know I for one would have taken advantage of that offer.

If I had to guess, I’d say that there were about 1.5 billion people packed into the place.  When you first walk in, you see several large-screen TVs with very comfortable looking chairs for those parents that decide that they don’t need to supervise their children.  I’m sure there will be people who disagree with me about this- but this is my opinion regarding the parental TV haven.  IF YOUR KIDS ARE YOUNG ENOUGH TO THINK THAT BOUNCING IS AN AWESOME TIME, THEY NEED TO BE SUPERVISED.  Quit watching the f’ing TV for an hour and make sure your kid isn’t being “THAT kid”.  Who is “THAT kid”, you ask?  He would be the one who is using the smaller kids as a step stool to climb the netted walls.  “THAT kid” turns the bouncers into an Ultimate Fighting Championship Octogan.  I watched “THAT kid” (who I’d estimate to be about 6 years old) shove a 2 year old into a wall for absolutely no reason approximately 5 times.  But hey, I’m sure his parents were completely engrossed in the ESPN2 table tennis world championship that was on at the time so they were unable to do anything about it.  

I decided against my better judgment to let my youngest son go into one of the dreaded bouncers.  After he walked into the tiny maze that led to a slide, “THAT kid” entered right behind him.  As he began slamming into the walls and trampling the younger kids, my son froze at the top of the slide paralyzed with fear.  He wouldn’t come out.  I knew at this point I was going to have to go in and get him- so I crawled in (with my shoes on) to rescue him.  About 5 seconds after I crawled in, a power-drunk 13-year old started hysterically blowing her whistle to get me out of the bouncer.  MA’AM, YOU CAN’T BE IN THERE WITH YOUR SHOES ON!  YOU HAVE TO GET OUT NOW!  After briefly fantasizing about body slamming the whistle blower for calling me ma’am, I calmly told her I was trying to rescue my son.  About 3 seconds later, I was pummeled to the ground.  It all happened so quickly- I wasn’t sure what was going on.  But then I saw him.  My arch enemy “THAT kid” was back, and had knocked me over.  Between the frantic whistles, the screaming, and having just been run over, I slumped up the ladder, grabbed my boy and slid down the slide.  I was reprimanded once more by the prepubescent shoe police and went on my way.

I looked at my phone to see how long we’d been there thus far: 17 minutes.  17 minutes in Monkey Joe’s time is about 7 hours in real time. Exactly 53 minutes and 27 seconds later, we finally escaped.  The kids passed out about 2 nanoseconds after we got into the car. My husband and I sat very quietly for a while- finally I said something.

Me:  I have to tell you something.

SMo:  What?

Me: I hate Monkey Joe’s.

SMo:  Then I promise we won’t have your birthday party there.

I may or may not have punched him after that comment.  But I think what my husband was getting at is this.  It’s not about me anymore.  It’s about my precious angels who’ve been brainwashed by a giant purple gorilla to believe that Monkey Joe's is the ONLY acceptable place to celebrate their birthday.  So congratulations Monkey Joe.  You may have won this battle, but you won’t win the war.  And seriously, think about the armor rental thing.

TTFN, 

AMo

FYI- I’ll be posting my most recent entries at Princess Muffintop on Facebook instead of my personal account.  So click on the Muffin to the right if you’re interested!

Gangsta Clean

In my house, there are 3 levels of clean.

Level 1: Half-assed clean.  This is the level of clean that is achieved on a daily basis.  It’s not that I don’t love having a spotless house, because I do.  But during the weekdays between the hours of 9-5, I’m OBLIGATED to be on the couch at my office desk blogging shopping online working and just don’t have time to clean.

Level 2: Weekend clean.  This is the level of clean that is achieved when, ahem, “other” family members decide they should pitch in.  Let’s just say this level looks very similar to level 1, but with a few additional random tasks completed.  This weekend, that tennis ball that had been stuck in our gutter for 3 months was finally pulled out.  Phew!  Crisis averted.  Also (I don’t want to short-change anyone) a bug that had been smashed on the wall a week ago was finally removed.  I’m going to miss Ol’ Smashy.  The severed legs / bug guts that I refused to clean off the wall and I really bonded over the past few days.  I’m sure I’ll be seeing his wife and kids soon. RIP Smashy!

Level 3: Mother-in-law clean.  This is the level of clean ONLY achieved when my mother-in-law comes to town.  Level 3 would be when I’m on my hands and knees in a bathroom with a magnifying glass trying to remove any evidence that we actually use the toilets.  My kids and husband tend to stand back during a level 3, as I tend to get all Mommy-Dearest for a few hours.

My husband’s parents came into town this weekend and I decided it was time for the kids to pull their weight.  They are only 2.5 and 4.5, but surely they could contribute a LITTLE.   And by “contribute a little”, I mostly mean “don’t make the house worse as I’m cleaning”. 

And so the cleaning began.

The kids put new toilet paper on the ground.  On the ground, that’s where it goes, right?  It is when you live with a 2 year old.

 

They made the bed. Well… sort of.

 

They cleaned the sinks….

…AND the walls.

I’d like to give a special thank you to Inspector Hector color-changing soap for making it look like a drive-by occurred in my bathroom.  Those red pellets are extra fun when you’re scraping them off of paint.  

  

But hey- this is what I asked for, right?  With the help of my kids and Inspector Hector, I think we’ve stumbled across a new level of clean at our house.  Level .5: Gangsta Clean.  

TTFN,

AMo

I (HEART) Segues

My 4 year old son woke up yesterday morning and told me that he was too sick to go to school.  I knew he was faking but was a little hesitant to call his bluff since the LAST time I told him to suck it up I ended up with vomit all over me.  I’m also pretty sure my kid is going to become a politician when he’s older.  When he sensed my hesitancy for letting him stay home, this conversation occurred:

DMo:  Mom, I’m sick.

Me:  You don’t look very sick; let me check your forehead.

DMo: Mommy, you’re beautiful.  Your hair is long and golden like Rapunzel.  

Me:  Oh, thank you honey!  Maybe you SHOULD stay home.

Um, WTF just happened?!  Did he just use his toddler superpowers to get his way?  I mean, my hair IS long and golden- just take a look at all of that flowing yellowness under the tiara.  STILL. I’m pretty sure my kid has got a lot of winking and pointing/baby kissing in his future.

Then there’s my OTHER kid.

When we went to Disneyworld, we let the kids pick out a few toys.  My youngest was IMMEDIATELY drawn to a Buzz Lightyear toy that quite frankly looks exactly like the rest of the 237 Buzz Lightyears in our house.  This one was special though.  THIS one can be pulled apart into two pieces.  MMo does not care at all about the top portion, he ONLY wants the legs.  We have tried numerous times to fashion the torso/head back on, but MMo will immediately rip it off.  ONLY the legs.  The kid doesn’t want ANY other toys.  Just the legs.  This seems like something I should be concerned with, but I’ll live in my land of denial for a bit longer.  I mean, they aren’t REAL body parts… um… yet… right?

Speaking of creepy, I started P90X today.  

I’ll be honest, I couldn’t finish because I couldn’t stop laughing.  First of all, this guy looks like someone featured on Dateline’s “To catch a predator”.  I’d bet 5 bucks that the vanity plate on his bright yellow Ferrari reads “NICERAQ”.

I walked away to use the bathroom and all I could hear from the other room is “Oh yeah, GET THAT BODY involved.  Breathe, oh yeah, are you feeling it?  Oh that’s gooooood.  Hooo hooo hooooo!  Bring it!  That’s what I WANT TO SEE!”, accompanied by a ton of heavy breathing.  If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed someone was watching a little Cinemax after 2am.

 And continuing with creepy…

When you have a Google blog, they supply you with analytics on your audience.  One of the items they provide you with are the key words people type in to Google that lead them to your site.  Mine are usually “mom blog”, “bachelor”, etc.  I’d just like to give a little shout out to the 2 people that Googled “will a dead body pose a health risk” and “XXX hot stepmom” and got my site.  Thanks for reading, and um… good luck with your searches.

TTFN, 

AMo