Tag Archives: humor

13 Surefire Ways To Make Life Difficult For Your Family

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After writing this post yesterday, several people have emailed or commented asking to see my list.

You know … the list. The one I pull out when I have heard too much needless whining. The one I refer to when I have picked up other people’s dirty clothes for too many days in a row or spent time cooking a meal and breaking up fights and keeping a toddler from touching the stove, AND NO ONE EATS IT.

That.

This list strikes fear in the hearts of those who have to live with me. Want to compare notes? OF COURSE YOU DO!

13 Surefire Ways To Make Life Difficult For Your Family:

  1. Omit items from the grocery list that everyone else likes, and buy what I like instead. Example: instead of Honey Nut Cheerios, I will buy fat-free granola with dried berries. Instead of whole milk, I will get almond milk. Instead of sweet tea, you will drink PLAIN WATER.
  2. If the situation in #1 grows dire enough, someone will eventually suggest going to the store. I will then produce a lengthy and complicated list of hard-to-find items. Can’t find the fresh coriander? LOOK HARDER.
  3. Fail to charge all of the iThings.
  4. Lose the chargers.
  5. Insist that we listen to the “Sunday Jazz Brunch” Pandora station all. weekend. long. It’s good for brain growth.
  6. Assign additional chores to anyone who talks to me. “Oh, hi! I was about to ask you to fold these towels!” or, “Hello, child! You have so much energy. Here’s the Windex — you’re 4 now. You can totally clean windows.” Pro tip: this one is my favorite.
  7. Go on a health kick. The mere idea of throwing away all of the Pop Tarts makes them gasp in unified horror.
  8. Suggest a bike ride and then say, “Daddy will take you! Have fun!” Disappear.
  9. Enforce educational-only books and TV shows for as long as it takes for them to become sufficiently educated.
  10. Sing in the car.
  11. Stop washing clothes. Hint: no one will notice or care until they start running out of underwear. Prepare to look confused when they ask where all of their underwear went.
  12. Consider military-style consequences for unwanted behavior, i.e. push-ups, digging holes, and running laps.
  13. Leave the house.

Adios

Bonus points: hang this banner in a common area.

I found this on Pinterest, and it is amazing. I have no idea where it originated from, but I WANT ONE.

I found this on Pinterest, and it is amazing. I have no idea where it originated from, but I WANT ONE.

There you have it! My list is ever-changing and ever-growing. What’s on yours?! I’m always looking for new ideas.

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10 Surefire Ways To Enrage Your Mother

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No matter how calm and collected a woman may be, you can rest assured that there are countless ways to piss her off. I don’t mean just irk her a little — I mean send her flying into a rage reminiscent of 2007 Britney Spears.

Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. We all have those moments.

I’m almost certain that my children have a master list hidden somewhere in the house where they keep track of the behaviors that seem to make me the angriest, which they refer to when they need some quick entertainment.

When and if I am able to locate this list and decode it, I imagine that it will go a little something like this.

10 Surefire Ways To Enrage Our Mother:

  1. Emerge from a bath without drying off. Proceed to wrap your entire body in toilet paper.
  2. Refuse to poop when she encourages you to, even if you really do have to go. Hold it in until the worst possible time. Repeat as needed.
  3. Poop in the backyard.
  4. Grind your Goldfish crackers into dust and blow them across the kitchen.
  5. Allow her to painstakingly part your slippery toddler hair and affix it into two perfect pigtails. Stare at her without emotion while slowly pulling them out.
  6. Wait until she leaves the room. Scream like you just got your fingers chopped off. Laugh when she comes rushing into the room with a panic-stricken look on her face. Pro Tip: You’ll probably only be able to do this once.
  7. Say the same thing over and over. Say the same thing over and over. Say the same thing over and over.
  8. Use her fancy shampoo as bubble bath.
  9. Play with her makeup … in her closet. (Allow your imagination to run wild with this one! Maverick once painted the closet carpet like a rainbow!)
  10. Pretend to be a cat. Do all the things a cat would do, such as hiding under the bed when it’s time to leave the house, pawing at others and yowling when someone is brushing your teeth. Don’t forget the most important part: eat and drink without using your hands. (See #3 for extra points!)

Rest assured, friends … I have a list of my own that I refer to as needed. It’s called “Ways To Make Life Difficult For Everyone Around Me.”

No one wants to see me pull that list out.

10 Surefire Ways To Enrage Your Mother(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter!)

Dinner And A Show.

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I have a great dad. I love my dad.

He’s kind and hilarious and has a fantastic Southern accent. He calls mosquitoes “skeeters” and says things to my kids like “You look like you’ve been wallerin’ in dirt.”

He always used to tell me, if you hit right, you’ll only have to hit once. I think my dad is the reason why I grew up with such cowboy-like grit. For a girl.

He works really hard, so I don’t get to see him that often, but occasionally he will take me out to eat, just the two of us. It’s so nice to have the luxury to sit and talk without the constant interruption of children, and to have a reason to put on real clothes to go to an establishment where someone else will prepare and deliver my food without me having to exert any energy beyond deciding what items I want to order from the menu.

Tonight I met my dad for dinner at Newk’s, which is like an upscale Jason’s Deli, which is basically a glorified Subway sandwich shop. I don’t know why I suggested it — he asked me where I wanted to go, and for whatever reason I picked Newk’s. It’s in a brand new building right next to Starbucks, and since I said that’s what I wanted, that is where we went.

We sat in a booth right next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, facing the parking lot. I ate spinach-and-feta soup, he had the Chef’s salad, and we discussed heavy issues like what we are going to find out tomorrow morning when we meet with the oncologist to get the results of my mom’s PET scan.

The entire time we were eating, there was a tall, athletic-looking black guy standing right on the other side of the window talking on his cell phone. He was wearing a t-shirt, flip flops, and athletic shorts. My dad’s back was to the man, so he didn’t see him even though he was literally 2 feet away.

I have to assume that the man couldn’t see me — maybe there was a reflection on the glass — because the entire time he was on the phone, his hand was glued to his crotch … which was at eye-level.

I tried my best to ignore him, but every time I glanced over, HIS HAND WAS ON HIS GENITALS. Inside his shorts, outside his shorts … it’s like he was doing whatever men do when they’re by themselves, except that he was in public and I was trying to eat dinner and my dad was sitting across the table from me.

Let me be clear: this man wasn’t pleasuring himself. It seemed like he might be one of those nervous, penis-grabby types. You know the ones. He seemed distracted. Also, race doesn’t mean a thing to me … except in this particular situation.

You’ll find out why in a moment.

As I was talking to my dad, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and that is when I saw an enormous black penis, in person, for the first time in my entire life. I’ve seen my share of white penises, but nary a black penis. No, not one, in all of my 35 years.

I guess the guy was so involved in his conversation that he forgot where he was and just pulled that sucker free from his pants.

This is the exact look I had on my face.

This is the exact look I had on my face.

I stopped talking, stared straight at him and yelled “REALLY?! REALLY?!?!?!” through the window, waving my hands in the air with indignation. I can ignore a lot, but I draw the line at indecent exposure.

Everything moved in slow motion as he realized that people (well, just me) were trying to eat right next to his giant cock, which was out of his pants. He put it away, turned around, and casually strolled away, still talking on the phone.

My dad, who was confused and looked out the window just in time to see him walk away, looked at me questioningly. “I can’t even,” I said, and I continued talking about whatever it was that I was talking about before I saw what I saw.

Because I am a fucking LADY.

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Bottled Water Taste Test

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Guess what?! Hobbs & Hayworth (that’s me, Harmony Hobbs, and my friend Audrey Hayworth of Sass Mouth) landed a regular segment on our favorite online TV show for moms, Mom Cave TV!

Here’s our latest, where we taste-tested bottled water. Enjoy!

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“I DON’T WANNA DIE!”

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Maverick thought it would be hilarious to teach his siblings to scream “I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!!!” when they’re in the car.

Our days just became a lot more interesting.

11822511_10156169512270508_6396230565025311162_n(If you liked this post, then you should follow me on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter!)

Trans Fats.

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Trans fats ... mmmm.I don’t really know what happened.

When Robbie and I met 12 years ago, I was eating a very clean, almost-vegan diet. I guess because I couldn’t get a date and I was bored, I figured it would be a good idea to snack on raw almonds and green tea. I also did a lot of Pilates.

Those days are over.

Anyway, after weeks of flirting he finally walked up to the Customer Service desk in the Albertson’s grocery store where we worked and said, “I want to take you to lunch.”

He had this charisma and confidence that stopped me in my tracks. Not the gross kind of charisma that televangelists have, and not the overinflated kind of confidence that makes me want to punch someone in the face. This was different. He had pizzazz, and YES, I WANTED TO GO TO LUNCH.

I gathered my purse and he drove me across the street to Applebee’s, where I ordered a vegetable plate because that’s the kind of shit that I ate back then, not because I was trying to impress him with my birdlike eating habits. I remember him staring at me incredulously and me feeling confused as to why he was reacting this way.

It’s just vegetables, I said, as he visibly shuddered.

I eventually learned that Robbie only ate the following vegetables:

  1. Iceberg lettuce
  2. Bell peppers
  3. Onions
  4. Potatoes in the form of french fries

The remainder of his diet was comprised of hamburgers, powdered doughnuts, chips, and beer. I was appalled.

Over time, my eating habits changed tremendously as Robbie introduced me to pepperoni pizza, real hamburgers, crab cakes and fudge-flavored Pop-Tarts. I traded steamed vegetables for the gross kind of stuff that you crave when you’re hung over, like tater tots smothered in gravy.

And while I have introduced him to a whole slew of delicacies like pan-fried tofu, veggie dogs, and hummus with pita, nothing I like to eat is quite as fun as Lucky Charms cereal … which really is magically delicious, by the way.

Sometimes I get frustrated because I know I would lose weight if I could just be happy eating a kale salad while the rest of my family dined on pizza, but to me, an extra 10 pounds is worth being able to eat trans fats and unhealthy carbs whenever I please. And also? I cannot believe I lived for 23 years without pepperoni in my life.

WHAT ELSE AM I MISSING OUT ON?!

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This Is How We Do.

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My oldest child started 2nd grade today.

I woke up at 5:30 a.m., a full hour before my alarm was supposed go off, unable to go back to sleep because it felt like Christmas morning.

I did all of the things mothers are supposed to do when their children start 2nd grade. I lovingly fashioned pancakes out of the instant mix that comes in a bottle that you pour water into and shake really hard.

I made sure I had a bra on, just in case the neighbors could see me shaking that bottle of pancake batter.

First day of school!

I laid out Maverick’s navy blue uniform shorts and told him to ignore the lint that blanketed them — clearly, washing them with new towels was a mistake — and made sure that his tennis shoes were double-knotted.

We missed the bus, but I assured him there was plenty of time for us to go through the carpool line. I corralled the other pajamaed children and loaded them all into our van.

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Maverick has been telling us for months that he wants to be an “asteroidal physicist.” Last year and the year before that, he just wanted to be a regular scientist. I’m not sure what changed, but I do know that I was Googling “asteroidal physicist” before I had my coffee this morning, and that was intense.

We rounded the corner and waited in the long line of cars at the elementary school, and because I am a good mother who tries to do the right things, I attempted to have a special moment with my child.

You know what I’m talking about. That moment when you and your kid connect on a deeper level, and he or she understands for a fleeting moment the depth of your love, and you relish the feeling that you’re doing a really good job until you find yourself screaming “DON’T EAT THE TOOTHPASTE OUT OF THE BATHROOM SINK!” yet again.

It’s special.

I turned around in my seat to look at him, blinking back tears. “Maverick, I am so proud of you and I hope you have a great day. Your brother and sister are really going to miss you tod—”

This was the precise moment that the teacher who was on carpool duty opened our van door and Maverick yelled “BUH-BYE, SUCKAS!!!!!!” at the top of his lungs as he leapt out.

She stood there for a moment, frozen.

I smiled and yelled “HAVE A GREAT DAY!” as if this was perfectly normal, as though the Hobbs family yells that phrase every time they part ways.

Her face never changed expression as she slid the door closed.

I’ve decided that the next time I drop my children off somewhere, I’ll kiss them all goodbye as usual, and as they smile and wave at me like the little darlings that they are, I will roll down the window of our beat up van and shout “BUH-BYE, SUCKAS!!!!” as I peel the eff out.

Because this is how we do, SUCKAS.

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Downy Déjà vu

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As long as I am married to Robbie, which will be until I’m senile or dead, I will never run out of things to write about. Here is a conversation we had this evening:

Me: “We’re out of laundry detergent, so I can’t wash any more clothes until I go to the store.”

Robbie: “Just use that stuff in the blue bottle.”

Me: “What stuff? You mean fabric softener?”

Robbie: “Yeah, that stuff. It’s all the same.”

Me: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, IT’S ALL THE SAME?!”

Robbie: “It all basically does the same thing. It gets them clean.”

Me: “No … no.”

Robbie: “Yes it does, I washed a few loads awhile back with that stuff.” (He’s referring to the other weekend when I went to the beach.) 

Me: (silence)

Robbie: “It got them clean.”

Me: “That explains the weird blue stains on our clothes.”

Robbie: “Oh.”

What’s even MORE amazing is that this exact thing happened when I was 12 years old, and my dad took over laundry duties because my mom returned to the workforce.

Weeks, WEEKS, I TELL YOU, went by with the three of us — me, my mom, and my dad — wondering where all of these grey-blue spots were coming from.

Downy

Whoever said that most women end up marrying a man who is just like their father was so, so right.

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Resist Urge To Scream.

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This blog post is based on a series of real-life events.

6:30 a.m. Stumble to coffee maker. Mumble good morning to spouse. Wonder how this is happening again already.

7:00 a.m. Breakfast.

7:30 a.m. Tell Robbie goodbye. Hold screaming child back as he tries to run after the car. Brew another cup of coffee.

9:15 a.m. Look out of the kitchen window to see Asher standing naked in the driveway and Maverick on the roof of our vehicle with the water hose. Both are screaming.

9:16 a.m. Choose to ignore staring neighbors.

9:30 a.m. Boys come inside because they both have to poop and we don’t allow them to poop in the yard.

9:45 a.m. Pepper touches my unshaven legs while trying to climb into my lap and gets very upset because they “ouched” her.

9:46 a.m. Took a picture of her subsequent screaming because she wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what else to do.

This is an actual photo of my child crying because she touched my hairy legs.

This is an actual photo of my child crying because she touched my hairy legs.

10:00 a.m. Take stock of my day.

10:10 a.m. Brew another cup of coffee.

10:15 a.m. Realize that the only method of survival is pool time.

10:45 a.m. Head to the pool.

Asher would wear his goggles 24/7 if we let him.

Asher would wear his goggles 24/7 if we let him.

11:00 a.m. Check Pepper into the nursery.

11:05 a.m. Arrive at pool with the boys and look for a lounge chair. The first two I sit in are broken. Resist urge to scream.

11:07 a.m. Move to chair number three. Notice that the lifeguard is looking at me from behind his smug hipster sunglasses.

Resist urge to scream.

11:09 a.m. OH MY GOD THIS CHAIR IS FUCKING BROKEN TOO.

12:00 p.m. Head home.

12:30 p.m. Prepare lunch that no one is excited about, including me.

1:30 p.m. Decide that the world will not end if Asher wears his Darth Vader costume to the grocery store.

This photo pretty much sums up my entire Summer. A whole lotta Darth.

This photo pretty much sums up my entire Summer. A whole lotta Darth.

1:45 p.m. Load kids into the van. Go inside to pee in peace.

1:48 p.m. Return to van and discover emergency brake was pulled while I was inside. No one will own up to it. Both boys are now buckled into their car seats. Realize I have never used the emergency brake in this vehicle. Unable to locate it because three children are yelling.

Resist urge to scream.

1:50 p.m. Call Robbie at work and ask him to tell me where the emergency brake is. FORBID HIM TO JUDGE ME.

2:00 p.m. Arrive at grocery store. Plunk Pepper into a shopping cart and find that the seat belt is broken. Select another cart. The seat belt is broken on that one, too.

Resist urge to scream.

2:25 p.m. Buy potatoes. Open “share size” bag of M&M’s in the checkout line and cram them furiously into my mouth.

Refuse to share.

3:00 p.m. Make potato salad from scratch. Wonder who fucking makes potato salad from scratch anymore because it’s a lot of fucking work.

3:10 p.m. Spend the next 30 minutes making sure my toddler doesn’t get burned by the pot of boiling water.

4:10 p.m. Verify Asher’s arm is not broken.

4:11 p.m.  Remind Maverick that no one wants to see his private parts.

4:15 p.m. Get band-aid and ice pack for injured child. Scream at boys to stop trying to put toys up their behinds. Finish potato salad.

4:20 p.m. Locate a large glass bowl and dump it in. Notice that the bowl is broken and there are shards of glass now mixed into the potato salad.

4:21 p.m. Walk outside to throw broken dish and the potato salad away.

Scream.

Screaming

No caption needed.

4:25 p.m. Count the days until school starts.

5:00 p.m. Start cooking dinner.

6:00 p.m. Wine.

7:00 p.m. Count the days until school starts again.

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