My mom’s dobermans are absolutely convinced my house is surrounded by bad guys and we must be protected at all costs.

When teenage boys ask to go to the grocery store with you, please don’t labor under the false ideal that they just want to spend time with you. In reality, all they want is to try and con you out of piles of junk food, soda, sketch pads, gigantic plastic rats from the Halloween department, and video games.

If you have a family where one parent frequently has to be gone for weeks or months at a time, it is infinitely helpful to remind your children that yes, he/she is your dad/mom and you understand they miss him/her terribly, but he/she is also the love of your life and you also miss him/her terribly. The level of mutual understanding that results from that conversation is immeasurable.

Telling your kids “in a second” when they ask you to do something for them buys you exactly 2 hours and 37 minutes before they attempt to slice the watermelon by themselves.

My mom’s dobermans enjoy eating each other’s faces.

When Daddy is gone, watermelon and mini Babybel cheese is a perfectly acceptable dinner.

Every Friday and Saturday, my internal dialogue goes something like this, “Yay! It’s Friday! I don’t have to work out for the next 2 days!”……..”But I really want to work out…..”………”Shut up you dirty whore! I don’t ever wanna hear you say that crazy shit again!”…….”Yes ma’am.”

Dear church guy walking around the neighborhood handing out pamphlets,
If you approach me while I’m working in my garden and I don’t see you coming, I am going to scream. You are incredibly lucky that I didn’t throw my hedge clippers at you.

Spending a week watching movies and reading books about extreme survival situations doesn’t make me grateful for my cushy suburban lifestyle. It just makes me wonder whether the people in the stories ever peed or crapped their pants.

I make fun of my oldest kid for listening to the Jonas Brothers and watching the Disney channel one minute and then rocking out to Marilyn Manson the next minute, but secretly I’m proud of him for keeping it real and not giving a shit what I think.

It takes every fiber of my being to look into my youngest child’s beautiful hazel eyes and baby face and say “no.” And the only reason I’m able to overcome my maternal instinct to cradle his 13-year-old self in my arms, kiss his precious little face and give him everything he ever wanted is thinking about my future daughter-in-law and the absolute HELL I will create for her when she marries a momma’s boy.

The End.