Friday, May 27, 2016

Super Spring Writer Series: Guest Post By Angela McKeown

     Today's guest writer is a humorist I met two years ago at my first Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop in 2014. We instantly clicked, and I was thrilled to connect with her again this past April at the 2016 EBWW convention. Angela McKeown, who blogs at Momopolize, is a funny, sweet woman with a great sense of humor. She had me laughing the entire weekend we spent in Dayton, Ohio, and is now part of my tribe of Erma gals that I adore. Please welcome Angela to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love and shares!


Remember being a kid and wanting people to think you are older than you are?
“I’m 12.  And a half.”
Don’t forget the half.
As adults, we reach a point when that changes.  Rounding up our age is no longer desirable.
So we lie. I bet my Mom has had more 29th birthdays than your mom
For years I jokingly told my kids I was 29. Mostly jokingly. Well, sort of jokingly.
One day I finally came to the realization that saying I was 29 was essentially telling
my kids that I got pregnant when I was 12.
Not exactly the morality message I want to send.
Just why DO we try to hide our true age? Why is it impolite to
ask a woman her age?  It’s not like we’ve done something wrong.
“Oh gosh. I can’t believe I aged 365 days this past year.  PLEASE don’t tell anyone!”
I mean, we don’t have a choice. Everyone single person ages a day every single day of their lives. No matter what.  So why does that suddenly become something to disguise?
And anyway, I realized I had it all wrong. Totally wrong!  Why would I want to say I’m younger than I truly am?
Since turning back time is only possible in movies, ultimately don’t we just want to look young for our (real) age?  To feel young for our age?
When I’m saying I’m 29 but am actually 39, people are just going to think,
“Dang girl!  You look like crap for 29!
Goal not accomplished.
So listen up ladies!  When you lie about your age, don’t subtract 10 years.  ADD 10!
Then people will say,
“Wow!  You look incredible for 49!  What’s your secret??”
Or better yet , just tell the truth.
I’m 47. And a half.
Don’t forget the half
How old are YOU??

***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? Catch my latest article on Woman's Day Magazine, "I Was Absolutely Terrified of Becoming a Grandparent"


Angela writes about her 4 sons' crazy antics on her blog Momopolize ( After reading about her parenting skills, you will feel like mother-of-the-year. Warning: Don't ask her about her kids or she will momopolize the conversation! 

You can also find Angela here:


Friday, May 20, 2016

Fly On The Wall: All-Time Favorite Remarks (Part Two)

     Welcome to a special edition of Fly On The Wall group postings, hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado. Nine bloggers are inviting you into their homes today to be a fly on the wall. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I first began writing the FOW's two years ago because I wanted a way to remember all of the crazy stuff that came out of the mouths of my family members. I participate in FOW posts 12 times a year, and enjoy sharing the "best of the best" from each year with you. Today I'm recalling some of my favorite remarks that were shared on the blog in 2014.

"Whenever I take my laptop outside, I can't Wi-Fi.  All I get is the spinning wheel of death on my screen."

"You need to do something about that loose toenail. It looks like a tortilla chip on your foot."

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

"I hate dieting. My stomach is so hungry, it's eating itself."

"You told me this spray tan in a can stuff works. So how come I look like a patchwork quilt?"
"Didn't you read the directions? You're supposed to spray it from 6 feet away."
"How is that humanly possible? My arms aren't 6 feet long!"

"This house runs on love, laughter and chilled bottles of wine."

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

"Everyone knows you're the twisted branch in the family tree."

"Do you think the IRS will let us use your food baby as a tax deduction?"

"We need to ask my mom for some parenting advice on our son. He's making me crazy."
"Isn't she the one who tied your brother to a clothesline in the backyard while she did the laundry?"
"Like I said, she has the best advice when it comes to raising boys."

"You're really good at crafting words into stupid."

"Stop rubbing my leg with your wolverine toes."

"Note to self: Just because the zumba teacher is twerking in class does not mean that I have to. My back will never be the same."

"I'm so full, I have belly girth. Do they sell Spanx for men?"

"Oh look! The dog is dragging her butt across the carpet. If she picks up enough dust particles, I won't have to vacuum. She's a pug butt Swifter."

"Hangover is such a harsh word. Let's just say I have the wine flu."

"His snoring is driving me crazy. He sounds like a truffle-sniffing pig when he sleeps."

"You would have made a good pirate."
"Why? Because of my thirst for rum?"
"No---because of the grunting noises you make when you eat meat….and the fact that you haven't showered in three days."

"I think it's time to go shopping. My underwear drawer looks like it has been ravaged by moths."

"My liver better hurry up and regenerate because I've been drinking a lot lately."
"Sprinkle Miracle Grow on it. Better yet, start a liver harvesting farm: cornfed and hormone free."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear your mother dropped you on your head when you were born."

"He has an intestine longer than I-95….which explains why his poop is the size of a nuclear sub."

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

"You have the memory cells of a gnat."

"Every dinner at the Doyle house is like a Man vs Food episode."

"Mom, can I borrow twenty bucks?"
"I don't have it. I just donated all my money to the alpaca rescue fund."

"I had no idea our granddaughter could scream so loud. She sounds like she needs a priest to come in and perform an exorcism."

"If you eat too much couscous, the grains become time bombs. Once they hit the bottom of your gut, they detonate."

"Why is there a two hour special on TV about A.D.D.? People with the disorder can't sit that long to watch it. They'll lose focus after the first five minutes."

"One of the things on my bucket list is to do the running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain."
"At your age, it will be more like running with the mules."

Buzz around, see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:

Juicebox Confession                                     
Menopausal Mother                                   
Spatulas on Parade                                 
Searching for Sanity                                 
Never Ever Give Up Hope                           
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy                     
Southern Belle Charm                                 
My Brain on Kids                     


Friday, May 13, 2016

Men Are Like Dogs, Women Are Like Cats

    Several years ago John Gray published his #1 New York Times bestselling book, "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus", and helped change our way of thinking about the roles we play in our relationships. While I agree with Mr. Gray's perception of the differences between men and women, I'm taking it a step further and highlighting the similarities of the opposite sex in comparison to the behavior of dogs and cats.

     Before anyone becomes offended with this form of gender profiling, it's only fair that I mention I've owned many cats and dogs in the past, AND that my husband helped contribute to this post, because he strongly relates to a dog's mentality.

     It's no secret that men are wired differently than women. Men are less complicated----they say what they mean, and they usually act on those words. Women are far more complex. Sometimes our words have underlying meanings, and our actions are often the very opposite of what we want. We worry more about what others think of us, while men spare little time wondering how others perceive them. Men also have the innate ability to put aside negative emotions and quickly move on, while females will fixate for days--even years---on emotional injustices, only to second guess themselves in the end.


     *Dogs sniff each other's butts to get an idea of who they're dealing with. In similar fashion, men size one another up in social situations. Thankfully, there's very little butt sniffing going on.

     *Dogs will poop just about anytime, anywhere, and feel no need to hide it. Men are pretty much the same. Unlike most women I know, men can comfortably poop at work, or when they're out to dinner, or at a party, sporting events and even at a stranger's house. That's fine, as long as they don't get TOO comfortable with their surroundings and poop on the carpet. Many male dogs are also known for eating their own excrement, but that's where the similarities stop. Thank God.

     *Dogs are easily entertained. They chase their tail for hours and never tire of running after the same ball, over and over again. They love to get dirty, play rough and run around to the point of exhaustion. Men are easily entertained by television, where they can sit for hours on end until the couch is permanently marked with the imprint of their butt cheeks. If a mini fridge and a toilet were built into the sofa, they'd probably never leave. Men also like to play rough, and don't mind if they get dirty doing it. Think rugby, football and mud wrestling (especially if women are involved and they're wearing tight t-shirts).

     *Dogs will hump anything; other dogs, human legs, pillows.....sound familiar? All it takes is for a  female to bat her eyelashes at a man, and humping is sure to commence.

     *Dogs like a pat on the head and to be told that they're "good" when they do something right. Men are very much the same. They need to be shown appreciation for everything they do. But instead of giving them a milk bone treat, just give them a six pack of beer.

     *Dogs will do as they're told most of the time, and all they want in return is a little affection. Men will jump through hoops to please their women, including buying embarrassing items for them at the drugstore at 2:00 a.m., if they believe they'll be rewarded with some extra loving in the boudoir.

     *Dogs don't hold grudges. If they're mad at you for leaving them home alone, they'll just chew your best pair of shoes and then suck up to you when you return. When men do something stupid they're also quick to apologize and do whatever it takes to win your forgiveness. They're also responsible for keeping florists and chocolatiers in business.


     *Cats spray to mark their territory. In other words, "I had this spot first, bitches." I know quite a few women who have this same mentality when it comes to their men. Fortunately for the guys, these women don't feel the need to mark their territory with pee.

     *Cat's are private about their bathroom ritual and like to keep their pooping area clean. They don't enjoy using the litter box in front of people, and once they've done their business, they conceal the evidence in the sand. Women are also private poopers, and will mask the deed with a variety of aerosol sprays to freshen the air. If no sprays are available, they'll deny ever using the bathroom and blame the smell on an unsuspecting coworker.

     *Cats are happiest when they have catnip. Wine is like catnip to women. Enough said.

     *Cats go into heat and rub against other cats hoping to spark some action. "Touch me here and I'll purr. Touch me in the wrong spot and I'll bite the shit out of you." When a man is navigating his way around a woman, he must also use the same caution. If he squeezes a woman's love handles because he thinks they're "cute", he'd better be prepared for her to draw blood with her claws.

     *Cats only want affection on their own terms. They give you "permission" to love them when they're in the mood, but are often standoffish with a "leave me alone, you peasant" attitude. Women are the same, unless alcohol is involved.... and then their purring motor goes up a few notches.

     *Cats seldom do what they're told and rarely seek human approval for their actions. Occasionally they'll bring home a dead rat as an appreciation gift. Luckily, women don't stalk rodents for gifts, but if she offers to treat her man to a tattoo of her name etched across his bicep, he'd better agree, or else the mark of her stiletto heel will be tattooed across his forehead.

     *Cats carry grudges. Feed them the wrong food and they'll ignore you for days. Bring home a new puppy and they'll seek revenge on your drapes. There's a reason cats keep their claws sharpened. When a man gets into an argument with a woman, she'll bring up things that happened twenty years ago. Females have the uncanny ability to remember EVERYTHING from the past, and those claws are always kept sharpened in case it's time to use their man as a human scratching post.

     The only way to make a relationship happy and healthy is to accept and respect the differences between men and women. Compromise is essential if a couple plans to stay in the relationship for the long haul. Even cats and dogs are willing to share the misery of fleas, and if necessary, the dog helps the cat hide any evidence of poop by emptying the litter box of its contents. If that isn't true love, I don't know what is......

Friday, May 6, 2016

Super Spring Writer Series: Guest Post By Roxanne Jones

     As you may have noticed, I've taken a little time off from blogging recently to adjust to the passing of my mother, and to reorganize certain areas in my life that need my full attention. I'm hoping to bring back the funny next week, because the main thing I've learned throughout this grieving process is to hang onto my sense of humor. It gets me through the rough patches when I'm at my lowest point. I know that's easier said than done, but I'm working on it. In the meantime, I'd like to share a special post I wrote for another site about last goodbyes and the grieving process. This post was written two months ago from my mother's hospital room when she was still fighting to survive. At the time, I had no idea what the outcome would be, and was inspired by her strength and courage. If you have a moment, please visit Purple Clover where the post was featured earlier this week. You can read "Last Goodbyes" HERE.

     I'd still like to bring some laughter to start your weekend off right, and am pleased to introduce another humor writer who never fails to make me smile. Please welcome Roxanne Jones of Boomer Haiku to Meno Mama's site today! She was kind enough to rescue me when I was struggling to write a new post. My muse is still in grief mode, but with the help of my family and their humorous antics, I'm sure I can bring the funny back soon. Meanwhile, enjoy this hilarious post--- "8 lies I Tell Myself"---from Roxanne, and be sure to give her lots of comment love!


One of the benefits of getting older is the self-awareness we acquire (well, some of us, anyway—certain presidential contenders are obvious exceptions). But I digress.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve become aware of some lies I’ve been telling myself at this age. To wit (in no particular order):

I don’t have to write it down; I’ll remember it.
How deluded am I? Without committing it to paper, that middle-of-the-night inspiration for a blog post won’t be there in the morning. If that online funds transfer isn’t entered into my check register when I actually make the transfer, I’ll forget and likely end up bouncing a check. And if I don’t make a list of the six items I need at the grocery store, I’ll invariably come home with only five.

I’ll go for a walk at lunchtime.
I justify dawdling over a cup of tea and the morning news—instead of getting my ass out the door for a walk—by telling myself I’ll walk at lunchtime instead. But then lunchtime comes and I’m hungry, I get caught up in work, or I simply forget. The road to hell (and cardio unfitness) is paved with good intentions.

I’ll fit into those jeans again.
Oh, please. I’ve been hanging on to them for nine years now. I am not a size four anymore, and they don’t even have Spandex in them. Besides, medical science says it’s good to carry a few extra pounds as we get older. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Next spring, I’ll keep up with the weeding.
Gung ho at the start of every growing season, I tell myself that I’ll get out there and pull weeds in the garden at least once a week. Who am I kidding? I honestly have absolutely no interest in gardening, I have no time for it during the workweek, and kneeling in dirt with spiders, worms and other crawly things is not how I want to spend my free time on weekends. I’d rather pay someone else to do it.

This skin care product is really going to make me look younger.
Hope springs eternal. But by now, I—and my credit card—should know that no over-the-counter beauty product is going to lift my jowls or get rid of my crow’s feet. Short of a facelift, Botox or laser resurfacing, at best I’ll get well-moisturized skin that, in the right light and at the right angle, has its fine lines and wrinkles “minimized.” Sigh.

I’m not going to have wine tonight.
I don’t need the empty calories. And one glass invariably leads to two. But there’s something so comforting about the ritual, especially at the end of a crazy-busy workday. So while I start the day with the best of intentions (there’s that word again) to forego wine, when I come downstairs from the home office and Hubs asks me if I want a glass of chardonnay, sometimes I just can’t say no. I’m sure he wishes I were that easy when he offers other ways to de-stress.

It won’t hurt to wear high heels just one more time.
Yeah, tell that to my aching back, sore footpads and cramping calves. But vanity still prevails over common sense every now and then. What can I say?

If I leave my smartphone in the kitchen, I won’t feel compelled to look at it when I wake up in the middle of the night.
Wrong. I haul myself out of bed, retrieve it and spend way too long reading emails and visiting social media sites in the wee hours. I should probably ask Hubs to hide my phone at night. Or just exhibit some self-discipline and resist its siren call.

I’m sure there are numerous other ways in which I delude myself, but that’s all I can come up with for now. What about you? Are there lies you tell yourself—that you’re willing to fess up to here?

While you think about it, here’s this week’s Boomer Haiku:

Lies we tell ourselves
give the illusion we’re in
control. Let’s get real.


An award-winning copywriter for more than 25 years, Roxanne Jones writes Boomer Haiku (, a blog that takes a mostly light-hearted and often irreverent look at life as a baby boomer as we move through midlife and beyond. She recently launched the Boomer Haiku line of greeting cards, funny cards for folks 50+ that aren’t insulting about age. They’re available on her website.

You can follow her on:
Twitter: @RoxJonesWriter


Friday, April 29, 2016

Super Spring Writer Series: Guest Post By Anne Bardsley

      I met today's guest writer at the EBWW conference in 2014 and thought she was such a hoot! I have featured her on my site before because her midlife sense of humor deeply resonates with me. Please welcome Anne Bardsley, author of "How I Earned My Wrinkles", to my blog today! She's sharing a funny story about the time her young granddaughter decided to turn into a parrot and imitate one of her favorite swear words. I was howling with laughter after reading this post, because I have a 4 year old granddaughter who I'm sure would do the same thing to me. This story reminds me to watch my mouth now whenever I'm babysitting....

I Taught My Granddaughter To Curse
I am not proud that I taught my granddaughter to curse. I got busted. She overheard me say, “Oh Shit!” When the mailman arrived, she couldn’t wait to tell him the exciting new. “I learned a new fun word from my Gigi. “Shit!” she announced proudly. He scowled at me. “I did not teach you that!” I protested. “Yes you did, Gigi. You yelled, ‘Oh Shit!’ when you spilled your coffee.” I looked at the mailman and mouthed, “Oh Shit!” He grinned at me sympathetically. He must be a potty mouth grandfather.
That became her word of the day. “Oh shit! Let the dog out. Oh shit!! Let the dog in. Oh shit! It’s lunchtime.” Then it became her word of the week and she used it everywhere. At the grocery store she announced, “Oh shit! We forgot my cereal.” It’s odd how fast they learn to use the words with appropriate timing. And where did she learn the appropriate facial expression?
I want my sweet grand kids to use clean and approved language. And so I have decided to clean up my potty mouth. This is a challenge for me. I have a clean mind and heart, but every so often an F- bomb escapes from my lips. It seriously wiggles past my teeth and before I can bite it back, it’s out. I hate when it happens.
My problem is that I have a latent PMS (Potty Mouth Syndrome). After raising five kids, some words just slip out all on their own. I cannot be held responsible because I survived their teen years by a thread. In hindsight, that’s when I was at my peak of PMS. At two in the morning, I stared out the window praying they’d come home safe so I could kill them personally. I definitely developed my advanced, choice, vocabulary words those nights.
My goal was to completely remove the F bomb from my language. This was not as easy as I thought it would be. The darn (notice I said darn) F words kept forming on my lips. Once the Fffff sound started I had to get creative quickly. “What the Fook?” was my personal favorite. It’s such a perfect question showing annoyance, yet fondness. I’m all about soft cursing.
If the cashier loaded my grocer bag too full, I’d ask, “What the Fook?” while smiling. I never want to hear the little ones ask that question, even if they are smiling. It’s too close to the real F word. I had to drop that one.
I tried using Fig Newton as my new word, but every time I asked, “What the Fig Newton?” the cashier ran and grabbed a bag of cookies for me. After eight bags of cookies, I needed another word.
I tried Frill. That sounds clean and it’s quite charming. The only problem is my pronunciation. It sounds like Fah-Reeeel. My mouth gets distorted and neck muscles tighten like a turkey straining. It’s a horrible look. My sister suggested I just use the F word instead of making that face.
I thought of Cockeypop …or is it Poppycock? That is a loaded word and a train wreck waiting to happen. My menopausal mind could do so much damage with either. I dismissed them both immediately, as I giggled.
As you can see, I am struggling. My fear is that by the time I get my language kid-approved, they’ll have new ones to teach me. I suck at this stuff.


Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Where Did My Zip Go? Can I Get It Back With Hormone Therapy?

*The following is a sponsored post by

This past winter, 50-year-old Jamesa successful businessman, father, husbandshowed up at a New Jersey clinic with some vague but familiar complaints. I put in a full days work, but then I fall asleep on the sofa after dinner, he told the doctor. I remember my grandfather doing the same thing. No energy left for fun! Is it genetic? Is something wrong with me?

Neither, said the good doctor, after performing a physical exam and running some blood tests. Youre feeling the natural effects of aging. Thats what happens when there is a drop in the levels of certain hormones such as testosterone. The good news is, its treatable with hormone therapy.

As we get older, the production of sexual hormones that served us well in our younger days starts to taper off. Androgensmale hormonesstart to decline when a man hits his 20s. Because these hormones are responsible for large muscles, sexual desire and that vibrant energy we associate with masculinity, lower levels of androgens can make a man feel as though hes walking around in the wrong body.

The Malaise That’s Treated With Hormone Therapy

Here are some of the symptoms of hormone (testosterone) deficiency:
  • lethargy
  • fatigue
  • depression
  • reduced ejaculation
  • muted orgasm
  • weaker erection
  • loss of body hair
  • reduced sexual desire (libido)
  • thinning bones

In the past, a man with these complaints would have been sent home with a consoling pat on the shoulder. You’re getting older, James! What do you expect? It’s been a hundred years since a zookeeper in Germany noticed that castrated roosters stopped fighting, crowing and breeding. But only in recent decades has the medical field embraced hormone therapy to treat testosterone deficiency (since dubbed low-T).

Reversing Andropause With Hormone Therapy

Medical science has come a long way since the barnyard assessment. Now there’s even a name for it: andropause. Today’s hormone therapy starts with a physical exam and lab analysis. A sample of blood is drawn, and then checked for various hormones. These are compared with standard values. If it’s deemed necessary, the doctor can prescribe a supplement that’s tailored to a particular individual.

In the case of James, he was found to have total testosterone of less than 500 ng/dl (nanograms per decilitre)— well below the 600 average for a man between the ages of 45 and 55. (There is also a test for free testosterone, though it’s not often used because the amounts are miniscule.)

Once a man has been diagnosed with low-T, it’s a fairly straightforward process to prescribe supplemental testosterone hormone therapy. While it is possible, of course, to just buy a pill or a potion, the best strategy is to consult with a health professional who specializes in the field. Because testosterone levels vary according to a mans age and physical condition (diabetics, for instance, tend to have lower levels than healthy men), its important that the doctor take into account a mans age and health status.

Hormone Therapy Makes a Happy Ending

As you might suspect, the story of James ends on an upbeat note. After his doctor diagnosed the problem, James was given a prescription for testosterone supplements. He quickly felt his energy returning. His wife was happy, too. It was the first Valentine’s Day in four years, she said, that he had the energy to escort her to a nice restaurant for dinner and dancing.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Fly On The Wall On A Road Trip

    Welcome to another edition of Fly On The Wall group posting. 13 bloggers are inviting you into their homes today for a glimpse into their private lives. Thank you once again Karen from Baking In A Tornado for hosting these hilarious group posts!

     The past month has been a mixture of joy and sorrow for me. As many of you know, my mother passed away unexpectedly on April 4th. My family has been dealing with the loss as best we can, and  in typical Doyle fashion, using humor to get through the rough patches.

     On a lighter note, one of the highlights from earlier in the month was my trip to Dayton Ohio for the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop conference. I had one of the best times of my life meeting many of my online blogger friends and taking educational courses to improve my writing skills. Since I don't fly, I convinced dear ol' Hubs to drive me again this year, just like he did for the last conference in 2014 (you can read all about it HERE). Being trapped in a car together for 19 hours spurred many an interesting conversation and quite a bit of binge eating. When I wasn't napping or stuffing my face with Pringle's chips and peanut M&Ms, Hubs and I enjoyed the scenery around us. I received some strange looks from people at truck stops when I climbed out of the car with my purple hair, but all in all, we had a great time.

     If you had been a fly on the wall in our car during the road trip, here are some tidbits of conversation you would have overheard:

"You know you're old when you have to drive with a knee brace on."

"I think the GPS is drunk. It keeps getting us lost. It needs its own GPS."

"How am I supposed to eat this gooey sandwich while driving at the same time? It's like trying to hold a sloppy joe behind the steering wheel. Half of the goop ends up in my lap."
"Well, at least you'll have some leftovers on your shorts for later in case you get hungry again."

"Why is it that when we leave the state of Florida, all the radio stations only play oldies music?"
"Because we're fossils who still remember all the lyrics. Most of these singers are already dead....someone must be trying to tell us something."

"Can't you drive any faster up this mountain road?"
"I'm driving a Prius, what do you expect? It's like driving a car powered by hamsters. When someone asks me if it's a four cylinder, I tell them, 'No, it's a four hamster.' And right now, I think one of them just died going up this mountain side."

"I'm an emotional drinker, and you are seriously stressing me out during this road trip. Oh look! A pub!"
"Good to know I won't need to call 911 now."

"We need to lay off on the bean burritos. This car can only handle so much gas. "
"At least it's not just one of us doing it. My farts are responding to your farts."
"Yeah---we're sharing fart emojis."

" We need to get an RV and take more road trips. We could retire early and live off our savings."
"That sounds great, but what will we do for money the following week?"

"Sometimes there just aren't enough curse words invented to meet my demands after a day like today."

"What do you mean I'd be lousy at camping? I'm an outdoorsy type of guy."
"Only if your tent comes with a large cooler full of beer."

"My legs and knees are so sore and stiff from sitting in the car for five hours, I can barely stand. It's a good thing no one is trying to rob us at gun point right now, because I wouldn't be able to run. I'd just hand over my wallet and tell them they're welcome."


Buzz around the homes of some of these other participating FOW bloggers and see what you think!

Juicebox Confession                                     
Menopausal Mother                                   
Someone Else’s Genius                                   
Spatulas on Parade                      
Searching for Sanity                                 
Never Ever Give Up Hope                           
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy                     
Not That Sarah Michelle             
Southern Belle Charm                                
My Brain on Kids                
Go Mama O                              
The Angrivated Mom                               


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