Friday, January 23, 2015

Fly On The Wall In The New Year

     It's that time again! For those of you new to my blog, once a month I participate in these "Fly On the Wall" group postings with 13 other bloggers. It's a chance to see what REALLY goes on behind the closed doors of all my writer friends. It's also an opportunity for me to share with you the nutty things and the odd conversations that go on in my own home.

     This month the pesky fly witnessed some interesting things. I broke my big toe, for starters. Yeah, remember Queen of Klutz? I'm living up to that title in 2015. 

     The fly was also buzzing around a few weeks ago when I was a nervous wreck at the NBC studios. Shortly before I was to go on the set for a live interview about my Spandex book, my husband said something so off-the-wall stupid that it was hilarious…..just as I took a GINORMOUS swig from my water bottle. Needless to say, water spewed EVERYWHERE, soaking my shirt and the white fabric couch I was sitting on.  That's not even the worst of it. Moments before the camera turned to me, I looked down and noticed a large hole in my black leggings, just below the knee. Note to self: next time I'm invited to a television station, I'm bringing a bib and an emergency sewing kit.


      If you were a nosy fly on the wall at my house this month, these are some snippets of conversation you would have overheard in the looney bin that I call home:

     "You're a true carnivore. Every day you open the meat drawer in the refrigerator and gorge on cold  lunch meat right out of the packet. No bread or condiments necessary."

     "Am I the only one who has a husband who offers shots of whiskey to the cable guy after the installation is finished?"

     "Never come between a little girl and her ice cream cone."

     "You sure do go the bathroom a lot before leaving for work every morning."
     "I'm worried that I'll need to poop while I'm out on a landscaping job."
     "You could always use the bushes and grab some leaves for toilet paper."
     "With my luck, the leaves would be covered in poisonous sap and gum up my butt."

     "Since when did a simple toy like a child's spinning top become a dance party with strobe lights and techno music?"

     "I ate so much, I'm having Braxton Hicks from my food baby."

     "Hey honey, wanna go to the gun show this weekend?"
     "I'd rather have my teeth extracted."

      "My stomach hurts."
     "Eat a cheese stick."
     "Your answer to everything is a cheese stick! Got diarrhea? Eat a cheese stick. Dementia? Eat a cheese stick. Financial problems? Eat a cheese stick!"

     "You know you're old when you keep several pairs of toenail clippers in your nightstand drawer."

     "These book signings always make me nervous. I'm afraid no one will buy my book."
     "If you ply them with enough wine and beer, they'll buy the Brooklyn Bridge from you."

     "You girls think 50 Shades of Gray is cool---well, your mother and I are on 60 Shades of Gray….and that doesn't include our hair color."

     "Why does my home office smell like a baby's dirty diaper? We don't even have a baby."
     "This is where all the kids slept when they were infants. It's the ghosts of old poops that you're smelling."

     "I would NEVER eat anything called, 'Crunchy Tuna Surprise'."
     "Yeah, because the surprise part is that you don't know what the crunchy stuff is."

     "Just when you think you're doing a good job parenting your teen, he tells you that he and his buddies spent the evening Tasering one another for fun."

     "The family that wrestles together, stays together."

***Want more Meno Mama? I am THRILLED to be featured on BLUNT MOMS this week!!! You can read my funny post on aging right here:

Be sure to click on these links for a peek into some other homes:                          Baking In A Tornado                          Spatulas on Parade                          Follow me home                          Menopausal Mother                        Stacy Sews and Schools                                   Dinosaur Superhero Mommy                    Juicebox Confession                              Battered Hope          Eileen’s Perpetually Busy                                  Go Mama O                       Someone Else’s Genius                            The Sadder But Wiser Girl                             Just A Little Nutty                                       The Momisodes



Friday, January 16, 2015

Goin' South

     Why didn't someone warn me that once I hit the middle age years, my skin would lose its elasticity faster than a stretched-out rubber band? Wrinkles, I understand…but sagging? I didn't see that one coming.

     Despite the hours I spend at the gym to tone and firm what God gave me, the skin on my body still looks like an accordion. I'm pretty sure that if every crease was stretched out flat, I'd have enough skin to cover two people. There's even excess flesh on my back . If I could pull it up over my head, I'd have a skin hoodie for all those cold winter nights.

     I had to stop wearing tank tops years ago too, and not because my boobs look like they belong on a reality TV show called, "Gourds Gone South."  I chucked all my sleeveless shirts because they revealed the extra skin flaps under my arms, and I didn't want to be mistaken for a flying squirrel.

     The same goes for slinky dresses and tight jeans.  No amount of sit-ups or stomach crunches can erase the effects of birthing four children by c-section coupled with years of yo-yo dieting.  I doubt that I'll ever regain enough muscle tone in my waistline to wear a bathing suit in public again. I'm cursed with a deflated inner tube that's stuck around my middle like a droopy doughnut (minus the chocolate sprinkles). Sadly, the only part of my body that hasn't lost muscle tone is my uterus. That particular organ is about as tough as overcooked calamari.

    I need to combat these sagging parts one area at a time. Lately I've been Googling Brazilian butt lifts because I think a little booty enhancement would do wonders for my bottom, which is heading south at an alarming rate. If my fanny drops any lower, I'll be dusting the floors with it….and I'll be the first person to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records as a Human Swifter Butt.

     Spanx was invented for this very reason----to give the false impression that both my tummy and derriere are firm. Unfortunately, the tight fabric just pushes things further south until my thighs are rubbing together like mating seals. At this point in my life, I consider it pure luck that I haven't received a free, lifetime membership to Sea World.

     I've also noticed that my earlobes are beginning to hang a bit lower. It won't be long before all my dangly earrings are resting on my shoulder blades. But on the bright side, if my earlobes continue to droop, they can serve as wind flaps while I'm driving down the road. At least the grand kids won't have to worry about grandma running any red lights.

     The good news about my sagging skin? By the time I'm a senior citizen, I'll be able to tug on the drawstring of my skin hoodie to look twenty years younger.

      Or maybe just swim year 'round in the warm pools at Sea World.

If you love my blog, you'll love my book even more! New stories you've never read! Buy it now on or Barnes & Noble. THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!


Friday, January 9, 2015

Ladies' Restroom Etiquette 101

     I've gone to the bathroom in some strange places. Swamps, mountain trails and a roadside stop in Italy where the toilet was a hole in the ground with strips of torn newspaper used as toilet paper. I've come to the conclusion that in America, there's a misconception floating around about the fairer sex being the neater, cleaner sex. Anyone who walks into a ladies' public restroom knows this a myth. A sign stating,  “BIOHAZARDOUS MATERIALS INSIDE” should be posted outside these doors.

     My daughters both work in corporate offices and we agree that certain rules of bathroom etiquette need to be enforced there. No one wants to be the habitual office pooper, but sometimes you just have to make a bombing run. If you're the stinker in the stall, the next person in line will be accused of leaving the smell, especially if there's hang time to it. Everyone knows who the token office pooper is. Just steer clear of the restroom once she finishes her morning business.

     Every corporate office also has a stall stalker. These polite ladies sit quietly in a stall and wait for everyone to leave so they can uncork the results of last night's chicken wing binge fest. These women are known for stalking secret stalls in the office building, even if it's a long elevator ride up to the handicapped stall on the twenty-fifth floor.

     Pubic restrooms are the stuff that nightmares are made of. College taught me never to use a pub bathroom after 11:00pm because inevitably someone was crying or puking up beer in the stalls. Impromptu roadtrips from my youth also proved to be a lesson in courage when the only available bathrooms were at lone gas stations in the middle of Nowheresville. I'm pretty certain those pit stops were the inspiration behind many Stephen King novels.

     On a recent family vacation, I lost count of the times I played musical bathroom stalls at truck stops with my daughters. We never knew what lurked behind door number one, two or three, forcing us to play potty roulette. Most of the restrooms we visited smelled like a fisherman's wharf and had not seen a janitor's mop since Bush was in office. There were enough hairs left behind to knit a small sweater and the sanitary product disposal boxes were filled to capacity with mummified tampons.

     I understand a woman's need to squat like a sumo wrestler over the toilet bowl to avoid the germ infested seat. But ladies, if you're going to spray like a cat marking her territory, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie. If you're there to do some serious business, do us all a favor and flush the toilet. I don't need to know that your last meal included corn.

     Whether it's laziness or just plain forgetfulness, there are plenty of women out there who would benefit from a refresher course in Bathroom Manners 101. In the meantime, when my daughters and I hit the road, we'll be packing Public Restroom Survival Kits (complete with rubber gloves and industrial size antibacterial soap). Hopefully we'll be able to right the wrongs of women's bad bathroom habits---one toilet at a time.

***FUN NEWS*** I was a guest this week on NBC's 6 in the Mix to promote my new book! It was a great experience and you can bet I'll be blogging about it soon…. 


Friday, January 2, 2015

Why I Look Forward To Being An Empty Nester

    I'm counting down the years until the last of my four children moves out of the house. I get giddy at the prospect of being an empty nester. While there are some parents who might dread this phase of life, I know I'll embrace the newfound freedom of an unscheduled calendar. No more P.T.A. meetings, teacher conferences, football games, homework squabbles, band practice or bake sales. I dream of the day I can lock the front door, hop in the RV and hit the road to Margaritaville.

     There are numerous advantages to being an empty nester:

*The laundry room will no longer look like I it has been hit by an atomic bomb of dirty clothes.

*The liquor cabinet that was once locked down tighter than Fort Knox can now be left open for legal libations.

*Our extra bedrooms will no longer resemble hotel rooms trashed by rockers and their overzealous fans after a sold out concert.

*My electric bill will decrease because no one will be checking the refrigerator every ten minutes to see if new groceries have magically appeared inside.

*I won't have to wake up before the owls go to bed to get my kid to the school bus on time.

*I can travel to exotic places like Bore Bora. Just kidding! I'm broke after raising four kids. The only trip I can afford now is to Walmart.

*No more stockpiling of toilet paper, milk or socks.

*It'll take three days to fill the dishwasher---maybe more since I'll only be cooking for two. How much space do I need for a microwave tray, cup of soup or a bowl of Cap'n Crunch cereal?

*Ant colonies will no longer form on my kitchen counters to feast on donut crumbs or pizza crusts left out by the kids the night before.

*There will be no more squabbling over the TV remote. I can watch Cupcake Wars instead of listening to Kim whine on Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

*I won't have to conceal my Chinese leftovers in a container marked, “Urine Sample” to fool hungry teenagers.

*I'll finally be able to hear the birds singing outside instead of covering my bleeding ears to the loud, thumping bass of my son's EDM music.

*My grocery bill will be cut in half since I'll no longer be feeding a school of piranhas at the dinner table.

*The Hubs and I will be able to get our freak on 24/7 without worrying that the kids will catch us playing Little Red Riding Hood in bed with the big, bad wolf.

     There is a bright light at the end of the tunnel of motherhood and it's called, RETIREMENT....
until the circle of life comes around and bites me in the ass with grand children.


Friday, December 26, 2014

Ten Reasons My Husband Is My best Friend

   I met my husband thirty years ago on a blind date after we shared a month of daily phone conversations. Before we met face to face, his quirky sense of humor won me over. I knew I'd never have a dull moment if I married this man.

     And I've been laughing ever since.

     My love for him deepened after we had four children together and I saw how important family was to him. He encompasses everything a woman looks for in husband material---he's loyal, loving, trustworthy and kind.

     Although I admire all of these qualities in my man, it's his off-the-wall humor that I adore most. The things he does for me would send most husbands packing:

  • He doesn't have a problem with hitting the drugstore in his pajamas at 2:00a.m. for a tube of Monostat and a bottle of Pepto Bismol. He'll grab a six pack of beer while he's there and tell the checkout lady that he's hosting a helluva party.

  • He sacrifices watching the big game on TV to attend the neighbor's bris. For their dog.

  • He loves his in-laws despite their quirky habits of being cat whisperers and food addicts.

  • When our children were young and we couldn't afford entertainment for their birthday parties, he would don various costumes and morph into “Sven The Happy Swede” or “Daffy The Dysfunctional Clown.”

  • He'll eat my Velveeta surprise casserole without complaint even though it tastes like wallpaper paste and looks like a science experiment gone wrong.

  • Whenever we share a double decker fudge sundae, he sacrifices a few calories by saving the last bite for me.

  • He has plunged our temperamental, overflowing toilet more times than I can count and chased the kids through the house with the dirty, dripping plunger.

  • He doesn't mind being called on in the middle of the night to rescue his teenage daughter when the police detain her for sitting in her friend's car in a baby booster seat without a seatbelt. Yes, she really pulled this stunt.
  • He's patient with me when he's feeling amorous and I'm hotflashing like a mofo. Sex is not an option when my lady parts feel like an Easy Bake Oven.

  • He's always ready to protect me from a cockroach invasion. His holster is loaded at all times with a can of Raid on one side and a shoe on the other.

     Although there is nothing in our wedding vows about having to pull clingons from the dog's butt or scrubbing algae off a smelly turtle tank, our love can be measured by the lengths we will go to make each other smile.

     And in those moments when we are sporting magnifying glasses and nit combs over a child's lice-infested head, I am reminded why I married this man. He is my toilet-plunging, roach-stomping, lice-picking husband.

     In other words, my hero.

Friday, December 19, 2014

Fly On The wall In Christmas Town

     Welcome to another addition of the Fly On The Wall group postings. Fourteen brave bloggers are allowing their readers to step into their homes for a glimpse of what goes on behind closed doors.

     In the Doyle house, this month has been all about holiday preparations. The Christmas tree is up, the house is decorated inside and out, the frantic shopping has begun and there are oodles of baking goods in my pantry for a weekend of marathon cooking.  I look forward to having my family here as we sip mimosas, open gifts, start a balled-up wrapping paper war and feast on all the delicacies of the big Christmas dinner. My favorite part of the evening is sitting around the fire pit in our backyard as we cozy up to the warmth and listen to family members who sing and play guitar. When I look at all the lovely faces in the glow of the fire, I'm reminded of how blessed I am to belong to this spectacular family.

     If you were a fly on the wall in my house this month, you'd see me designing my own holiday Somee Card memes, which I'm including in today's post. You'd also hear the following snippets of conversation:

"To some, it's a tin of Christmas cookies. To me, it's a support group."

"You could have helped me decorate the tree today instead of being so lazy."
"I'm not lazy. I'm energy efficient."

"There's never a happy ending from a story that begins with, 'that one time I drank Fireball at a holiday party….'"

" I can't enjoy the Christmas feast this year without feeling guilty. You've demonized all the calories."

"It's obvious you're a holiday hoarder. You need a decoration intervention."

"Thank God we have hurricane resistant windows, otherwise they would have cracked when she hit that high note on the Christmas carol."

"It's not good holiday food unless it's really fattening….and you can feel your heart beat slowing down while you eat."

"Need help wrapping all these Christmas presents? …..said no teenager ever."

"Why on earth did you buy a red star for the top of the tree? We now have a brothel Christmas tree."

"I'm going to try to stick to my diet during the holidays."
"I can't do that. I have a condition that prevents me from going on a diet."
"What condition?"
"I get hungry."

"I hope you don't wait until the last minute to do your Christmas shopping at a Walgreens drugstore. I don't want to find the Ho Ho Ho Enema Gift Set there."

"Forget 'Elf On The Shelf.' I have 'Steve Up Your Sleeve' and 'Elvis On Your Pelvis.' "

"Whoever said 'Patience is a virtue' never experienced instant gratification."
"Or long line at Walmart."

"I have a lot of decorating to do today, but the coffee will keep me going until it's acceptable to drink heavily spiked eggnog."


Don't forget to grab your copy of my book, "WHO STOLE MY SPANDEX?" from or Barnes & Noble! Thanks!

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Guest Post By: Follow Me Home

     My WWW guest today is very special to me----she has been my blogging buddy since the early days and she's also one of the sweetest women on the planet. Please welcome Michele (Shellybean) Marriott of Follow Me Home. For years, Michele and I have joked about meeting up one day---I keep telling her I'm saving her a seat in my garden so that we can share some wine and talk the night away. We both have several children close in age and we both have the same, zany sense of humor. Her humorous blog posts always make me smile and want to reach through the computer screen to give her a big hug. One of these days, I know we will meet up and finally share that glass of wine. Michele has a heart of gold and I love her to bits. Please welcome my dear and talented friend to my site today. Thanks!

**Side note**  This concludes my Wacky Wednesday Writer guest series until further notice. I need to concentrate on promoting my book in 2015 but will continue to entertain you with my humor blog posts every Friday!

I'd like the opportunity to explain why I wore heels to do the laundry last week.”

Yeah, I said it. Heels. High, strappy, patent leather heels. To wash dirty clothes. At home.

You see, I'm a stay at home mom now. Actually, I've been one for a few years. Not to seem stereotypical, but SAHMs need to dress comfortably for, um...staying at home. Or going to the grocery, or making runs up to the school for the occasionally forgotten backpack/homework/instrument/lunch. Most of the time though, we're tending to things inside of the house.

I also work from home running my little bag shop. Still. If I'm not lying on the floor drafting patterns, I'm contorting myself like a kid playing Twister to cut fabric. Even sitting up to the old Singer sewing machine does not involve dressing in wool slacks or blazers or ahem, stripper-height shoes.

It was an epiphany (brought on by a much needed Swiffer-fest of my closet.) -The "aha" moment when I looked around and realized that I live in holey jeans, tank tops and cardigans. They are the uniform of my life. Usually topped off with a pair of flip-flops. The colors of tanks or sweaters may change. I might venture into the occasional yoga outfit or ballet flats, but in reality this is who I had become.

I decided that night (mid-pout) that I didn't have to look "comfortable". There are always the moms with the bejeweled jeans and heels hanging out at the elementary school. (Don't ask.) There are ladies with perfectly coiffed hair buying up the healthy cereal at the market. Why couldn't I try a little harder?

The next morning, I made it happen. I brushed ALL-the-WAY through my hair. I brushed and flossed the BACK teeth. I put on my nice wool pants that had a dust line from where they had laid on the hanger so long. I buttoned up my blouse and slipped on those gorgeous shoes. Stopping at the mirror, I clasped on my metal bracelet and fastened a tiny pair of pearl earrings. I was set.

I carefully walked down the stairs. I was standing a little taller (both figuratively and literally). I walked over to the laundry room clicking on the tile floor as proper ladies do, and opened the laundry chute. Jeans first. Little boy jeans with a pocket full of sand and a package of half-eaten gummy bears. The sand fell and left a trail down my nice pants. I tried to throw the gummies onto the counter. I wasn't even close. They scattered across the floor. Breathing harder, I pulled a fully soaked towel out that was connected to 37 other towels and assorted socks. The socks were sandy too. As I reached over the side of the dryer for the "sock that got away", my rock-star shoes slipped on the sandy tile and I landed on my fancy-looking butt atop the soaking wet pile of towels.

A few words not worth repeating. A deep breath realizing how ridiculous I looked. A weak moment when I dusted off one of those gummies and ate it. Who was I kidding?

I undressed right there, down to my skivvies. I pulled open a drawer and grabbed a rubber band. The jewelry went in the drawer and my hair went in a bun. I finished the laundry that day. Looking just like that. The heels sat there in the laundry room for a few days to remind me how foolish I had been.

There may have been tears. There may have been shocked neighbors watching a 42-year-old woman folding towels in her underwear. There may have even been a few less gummy bears. Who can tell?

I've learned my lessons.

1. No more playing dress up.
2. Kids MUST empty their pockets before throwing their clothes down the chute.
3. Kids must notify mom before throwing down soaking wet towels.
4. Gummy bears, in a crisis, can surpass the five-second rule.

Happy "Be-yourself-all-of-the-time" day, friends!


Michele (Shellybean) Marriott is a mom to three and a wife to one. (Hey, she lives in Utah!) When she’s not blogging, she’s creating bags for her shop, “shellybean” or eating doughnuts.

You can find her blog, “Follow Me Home” at
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