December 5, 2014

Guess what, guys?

It’s December which means it’s MY BIRTHDAY MONTH!

AKA: THE MONTH OF PATTI.

Oh, and Christmas.

But whatever.

That Baby Jesus has been stealing my spotlight for 42 years and I’ve had just about enough.

Can’t it be all about me for once in my life?

It’s always been about that baby or dead people (If you don’t know WTF I’m talking about then read THIS).

Did you read it?

Don’t lie.

Baby Jesus is watching.

Or is that Santa.

Oh well, one of them is gonna be pissed.

But as I was saying…

IT’S MY BIRTHDAY MONTH!

And I want to give you guys some free crap.

Has Baby Jesus ever given you free crap?

You might say “Well, he gave his life for my life so…yeah.”

WHATEVER.

dt copy 2

My new best friend (L) and the woman who just couldn’t do me a solid and wait until January to squeeze out her magic kid (R).

Has he ever given you a David Thorne book and a blanket with his mom on it?

DOUBT IT.

But I rock and this whole birthday month situation so I’m going to give away both of those things.

After David was kind enough to send me an email telling me that he read my blog and it made him laugh (Yeah, bitches. THAT happened.) we’ve been best friends and each wear lockets with half a heart on them and talk on the phone every night until we fall asleep and stuff like that, so he was awesome enough to send me a book to give to one of you guys. And the blanket? I saw that at the Wal-Marts and I bought it my damn self because I love you all.

So if you want this dynamic duo then all you have to do is this:

Remember my contest a couple of years ago where you guys molested holiday decor for my pleasure AND the chance to win a prize?

Well we’re doing it again!

Send a photo of yourself doing something embarrassing (but not disgusting or I’ll tell The Baby Jesus) to insaneinthemombrain@gmail.com by Thursday December the 11th and I’ll post the winner on the 12th.

Remember the last winner?

Jeremy

That’s Jeremy making The Grinch his bitch and making me fall in love with him.

Now it’s your turn.

Good luck!

And if you don’t follow David Thorne then (a) you’re an idiot, and (b) GO HERE AND DO IT NOW!

 

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July 17, 2014

A few months ago my friend Rachael and I went to Austin to spend the night in a treehouse at Cypress Valley Canopy Tours (photos and videos to come at a later “when-I-get-my-shit-together” date)

Well, when we were there we also tried to get some Franklin Barbecue because the hype about this freaking meat is making me turn into a starving and ruthless animal.

This place has been getting a lot of press and the word on the street is that they have THE BEST BBQ on the planet.

Now, I’m not one to get into this kinda thing. I’m sort of like “If everyone else wants it then I don’t want it because I’m cool like that, yo!”

But they got me.

So we went.

But when we got there they were out of meat.

franklinbbqfm551w

Ummm…bite me.

WTF? I come to get some sweet sweet meat and am DENIED?!?!?!?

Ummm…Screw you, Franklin.

So I turned on them.

Yeah, I still wanted the meat, but I didn’t WANT to want it.

Then I went all googly up in here and read that you could pre-order a shit ton of meat online and pick it up with no wait.

So I got online to oder enough to theoretically last me 3 months, but realistically last me through one lunch.

And guess what?

SOLD. OUT. ONLINE.

So I was all “GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, FRANKLIN!

BUY A CALCULATOR AND CALCULATE THAT SHIT!

BUY MORE MEAT, ASSHAT!”

Yet still, I could not give up.

Oh yeah, I knew what they were doing:  Make the meat hard to get and everyone will want it more.

I. Get. It.

That’s the motto of every douchebag on the dating scene.

Yeah, I KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING.

But still, it was working.

So Rach and I made a plan that later this summer we will do an early as shit, pre-dawn road trip in our PJ’s to achieve our meat goals with the caveat that if we went though all of that and DID NOT GET THE MEAT, we would riot.

I’m talking a nationwide, news worthy, PMS-ing hungry moms FREAK OUT.

Then a few days later I went to the movies with The Hub and we saw “Chef.”

I was LOVING this movie.

I totally dig Jon Favreau and Bobby Cannavale and I was totally digging the whole thing.

Then it happened.

Jon’s chef character went to Austin to eat some freaking Franklin BBQ.

And guess what?

HE DID NOT WAIT IN ANY FLIPPIN’ LINE.

And did they have enough meat for him?

Well, well, well…YES THEY DID.

In fact, they had enough meat for him to take with him to make sandwiches for hundreds of people.

What a crock of poop.

So I started freaking out in the movie and telling The Hub that THAT was the place that denied me the damn meat.

I started punching his arm just because I was frustrated and he shushed me and if I, like a 4-year-old, cannot use my words, I use my fists.

My body was exploding with (some may say ridiculous) rage (I blame PMS).

THOSE MOFOS DENIED ME THE SWEET SWEET MEAT AND NOW THEY ARE IN A MOVIE?!?!?!?

But I calmed down, thankfully, after a few days when my bloat and cramping went away.

And then one morning last week, it all came back.

This morning I got my coffee, sat down to relax and watch my Today Show, and what the frick do I see?

Obama eating some g-damn Franklin BBQ and buying enough for everyone in line behind him.

Yep. Franklin is getting even MORE famous,which is only gonna make it more difficult for me to get the freaking meat.

Thanks a lot, Obama. Why can’t you just go to freakin’ McDonalds like Clinton?

Momma wants her meat.

And she wants it with as little effort as possible.

But if I have to run for and win the presidency in order to get that flipping meat, I will.

I WILL DO IT!

Then after I eat enough meat to require hospitalization, I will force them to make enough for everyone in the USA FOR FREE.

All day err day.

FOREVER!

Or at least until I get impeached.

Which should be about 3-7 days after I am sworn in.

Okay.

Maybe 2.

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May 28, 2014

Last night I walked into my bedroom and saw something on the floor.

It was dark so I couldn’t tell what it was.

All I could tell was that it had legs and was big and there was no way in hell that I was gonna try and get all murdery on something that was a mystery to me.

What if it had fangs? Or wings? Or laser beam eyes? WHAT IF IT HAD ALL THREE???

I have enough trouble getting murdery on spidery things that I CAN see. I spazz out and freak out and 9 times outta 10 it ends up getting away and then I have to sing a few verses of  Motley Crue’s “Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)” in order to properly commemorate the moment that I totally effed up and let an angry spider loose in mi casa.

You might be wondering to yourself why I didn’t just turn on the light so I could get a better look, and if you ARE wondering that then I can totally tell you’re a newbie to the world of insectual intruders.

Even though I’m spazzy I have enough bug killing experience to know that turning on the light can make a bug run away and hide and meet up with all of the other gross and mysterious insecty things so they can gang up on you and stage some sort of coup d’etat, all while you are trying to live a normal life in a house where you know there is a mysterious thing that got away and is lurking somewhere waiting to lay some eggs in your b-hole.

No freakin’ thanks.

So I put a container over the gross thing and then weighted it down with a heavy candleholder and I figured I would tell The Hub to finish the job when he got home later.

The photo above depicts a daytime recreation of the occurrences of the night of May 22, 2014.

The photo above depicts a daytime recreation of the occurrences of the night of May 22, 2014.

Well, even though I was freaked out, I totally forgot about it about 10 minutes later.

I scare easily, but I also forget easily. So it’s always a surprise which one is going to win out.

(I also surprise easily, so basically my life is just a non-stop clusterfuck of multiple emotions.)

So later that night I went back into my bedroom and paused and thought “Oh Yeah! There was a gross thing!” And I looked down on the floor and my homemade bug jail was gone, so I thought  “Oh no! Where is the gross thing?” And I freaked out for a minute imagining a band of angry mystery bugs who, sensing that one of their own was in danger, totally banded together to get him out of trouble and performed some sort of eloquently executed jail break and then ran off to plan my demise. Then the thought crossed my mind that The Hub had happened upon my detainee and handled the situation. In my spider phobic mind, this seemed like the less likely of the two scenarios. But just in case,  I went to ask him about it.

Here’s how that went down:

Me:  So? Did you find my bug jail?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Well, did you find the thing in it? Was the thing still in it? Tell me the thing was still in it!

Him:  Yes.

Me:  What was it?

Him:  I don’t know.

Me:  Ummm…WHAT?

Him:  I. Don’t. Know.

Me:  Okay…well…was it a creature or was it a ball of lint that just looked like a creature? Because that’s happened before.

Him:  Creature.

Me:  I KNEW IT! Okay. Was it more buggy or spidery?

Him:  I don’t know. It was something.

Me:  Was it some sort of a stink bug thing? I thought it looked kinda stink buggy but I don’t really know what stink bugs look like so maybe it didn’t. And it was dark. So I don’t know. But was it? WAS it a stink bug thing?

Him:  (sighs) I don’t know.

Me:  How could you not know? You picked it up!

Him:  I saw all that crap piled up on the floor and figured you had a bug in there, so I just killed it.

Me:  With your shoe or with a tissue?

Him:  With a tissue.

Me:  Did you wrap it in the tissue or did you wrap it in the tissue and then crush it? Wrap? Or wrap and crush?

Him:  YES. I crushed it.

Me:  Then did you open the tissue to look at it?

Him:  No.

Me:  WHAT? If you didn’t open the tissue and look at the body then how do you know it was dead?

Him:  I SQUISHED IT.

Me:  Did you feel it squish? Like, did it crush and make crunchy noises?

Him:  I don’t know!

Me:  Then it might not be dead?

Him:  IT’S DEAD!

Me:  Where did you put it?

Him:  In the trashcan.

Me:  You didn’t flush it?

Him:  NO.

Me:  Oh my GOD! Why would you not flush it?

Him:  (sigh)

Me:  Which trashcan?

Him:  MINE.

Me:  Holy hell! What if it wasn’t dead? We don’t even know what it was! How could you not even look and see what you were killing? HOW???

Him:  Okay. I’m done talking about this.

Me:   What?

Him:  I’m not talking about this anymore.

Me:  Excuse me?

Him:  You heard me. Done.

Me:  But don’t you love me?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  I love you and if there is something that you’re afraid of I will not poop all over it. Even if it’s dumb and I don’t get it I will be like “That’s so sucky for you” and try to help and stuff.

Him:  That’s nice.

Me:  Soooo…

Him:  I’m done talking about this.

Me:  Okay……………………………………………………………………………………………..But do you really think it’s really dead?

Him: (sigh)

Me (To The Boy):  Hey! It’s trash night!

The Boy:  I know! I already took it out!

Me:  Did you get the trash from our bathroom?

The Boy:  No.

Me:  Why?

The Boy:  It’s not full.

Me:  Take it out anyway!

The Boy:  I don’t take them out when they’re not full.

Me:  Take it out!

The Boy:  There’s only like 3 things in it!

Me:  GET THE TRASH FROM OUR BATHROOM! GET THE TRASH FROM OUR BATHROOM!

The Boy:  OH MY GOD! OKAY! SHEESH! (eye roll)

Me:  Man, I hope that whatever was in the tissue IS dead because now our son’s life could be in danger.

The Hub:  (Totally in his own world now and had entirely tuned me out)

Me:  Oh well, he was a good boy.

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March 20, 2014

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So yesterday I discovered that there is something in my bathroom wall behind my mirror. It’s like a little Bob The Builder squirrel or something and I’m pretty sure he’s building a condominium complex in there and then he’s going to advertise for squirrel occupants via Craigslist and things are gonna get rowdy up in here.

Last night I’m pretty sure I heard him using a table saw followed by a nail gun and then I think I heard a few hookers pop by for a quickie.

Things are happening in there, you guys. THINGS.

This morning it was nice and quiet until I went to have my morning constitutional.

I was sitting there, reading my Entertainment Weekly magazine and singing a song to The Cat about what a creeper she is with all the staring at me while I poop, when suddenly I heard it: A squirrel sized table saw.

The sound continued behind the mirror for awhile and The Cat went over and jumped up to check it out and tried to claw through the mirror like a delusional psycho.

Then it stopped, so I got back down to bidness.

Then the sounds reemerged in the ceiling.

Above my head.

Over the toilet where I was sitting in a compromising and vulnerable position.

NOBODY CAN FEEL TOUGH AND FIGHTY WHILST SITTING ON A TOILET, YOU GUYS.

I’ve practiced doing my Karate Kid Crane Kicks from the toilet but it really doesn’t work out too well in the end.

So anyways, I sat there looking up at the ceiling and then I heard what sounded like 3-5 squirrels jumping up and down on the little ventilation fan and I convinced myself that at any moment, angry construction guy squirrels were gonna fall onto my head WHILE I WAS GOING POTTY, so I screamed and finished up my business as quickly as possible (Because you can’t take off running in the midst of your business. I mean, you can, but it would be gross), all the while screaming bloody murder, then vacated the premises, closing the door behind me so that when they fell through the ceiling they couldn’t scamper all over the house with their little hammers and chain saws trying to brutally kill me.

I am about to go back in and see what’s up.

If you don’t hear from me soon, send in backup. Or try to lure them out with an Alvin and the Chipmunks album on loudspeaker.

It’s a little known fact that squirrels HATE chipmunks due to the fact that they are considered to be adorably charming and cuddly while squirrels are considered to be assholes. It’s called JEALOUSY, people. So if you play The Chipmunks they will come running at you like those dudes in Braveheart. Just be prepared to capture them before they reach your jugulars.

And P.S. Some of those bitches can fly, so be cautious. I got Face Herpes from one once, so trust me on this.

And P.P.S. DO NOT use the Chipmunk Rock album. That one really pisses them off. Especially their version of “Whip It.” You play that one and you won’t stand a chance.

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March 3, 2014

Once you become a parent it seems like 99% of your day is spent saying “no” and yelling at your kid’s to stop doing something stupid.

It’s never-ending.

And the reason that you have to say it so much, is because kids are idiots.

And before you get all pissy with me and unleash the BOLD CAPSLOCK FURY all over my blog, let me elaborate:  We are ALL born idiots and our parents are here to keep us alive and well until we learn to NOT be idiots.  We can’t help but do idiotic things because we don’t know any better. Everything is a new curiosity to us and we think we’re invincible. Little by little we grow and learn to stop trying to lick floors and stick random things up our noses. And sometimes, well…sometimes we don’t grow out of it. Just sit down and watch a few episodes of Tosh.O if you want proof of that.

I recently posted a Facebook status where I said that I had to tell The Boy to stop trying to shove The Cat down his pants.

The Boy is 12.

A few months ago he asked me if he and his friend could video tape themselves jumping off of the roof.

So the growing out of it? It’ takes awhile.

Ever since he could crawl I’ve been calling him out on his idiotic behavior. The amount of things he’s tried to do that could have injured or killed him is staggering. And the amount of things that he’s done that have made me want to vomit, are even more so. “Stop eating that dog poop!” was just one of sooooo many.

Anyways, after I posted that status about The Cat in the pants (that sounds like the name of a kick ass kid’s book), I asked my readers to tell me some of the things that they’ve had to yell at their kids recently.

I was not disappointed with the results.

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THINGS MY READERS HAVE YELLED AT THEIR KIDS

-Stop eating the stick of butter. 





-Do not microwave the cats.

-Don’t sniff your brother’s butt.

-Stop licking the stove.

-Please don’t lick the dog.

-Did you just eat bird poop?

-Stop trying to hump your brother.

-That hole is NOT for fingers.

-Don’t bite the couch!

-Stop biting the dog!

-Get your finger away from the dog’s butt.

-Quit doing Gangham style naked.

-Stop trying to pull your brother’s penis off!

-Please don’t pee on your sister.

-Take garbage out of your mouth.

-Don’t bite the cat.

-Get your finger off the cat’s butt pucker.

-Cat Chow is NOT an afternoon snack.

-Get your hand out of your pants.

-Don’t try and pull the dog’s tail off.

-Don’t you shit on my carpet!

-Stop licking the television screen.

-Stop licking the side of the house.

-Why are you naked and trying to shove a cupcake in my mouth?

-Don’t make balloon animals with your balls at the dinner table!

-Stop licking your brother’s butt!

-No, your poop isn’t going to be chocolate flavored no matter how much chocolate milk  you drink so please don’t try it.

-DO NOT pee on the dog!

-Don’t rub your french fry on the floor.

-Stop putting your sandwich in your shoe.

-No, you may not take the peanut butter into the tub with you.

-What’s in your nose? Is that poop?

-You can only be naked and touch yourself if you go in your room.

-Don’t let your brother eat your toes!

-Quit painting with your poop right this minute!

-Don’t eat your shoe.

-Don’t wipe your nose on the dog/cat/me/fork/any other usual household object.

-Stop rubbing your forehead on the carpet.

-Please stop playing with the dog’s vagina.

-No, the cat doesn’t want to be blue.

-Quit singing songs about titties, farts, buttholes, and privates!

-Stop trying to put your buttholes on each other!

-Don’t put that up your nose!

-Stop trying to put the cat’s head in your mouth.

-Where is my cat? What do you mean she’s in the dryer? How long has she been in there?

-Get your finger out of there. (“There” could be ANYWHERE.)

-Who licked the butter?

-Why did a spoon just come out of the icemaker?

-Why is there bologna and cheese in this pillowcase?

-That’s not bacon, that’s CAT HAIR! Keep it OUT of your mouth! (My two year old pulls hair off the cat and says “Mmm bacon!” and eats it.)

-Don’t beat your brother in the head with Mr. Potato head. You’re gonna wake him up.

-Don’t rub grilled cheese on your head.

-Can we please not freeze mud and sticks in mommy’s coffee cups?

-Why is your blankie in the freezer?

-No, you cannot ride the skateboard down the staircase railing.

-Stop licking your armpit!

-Please do not touch the puppy’s “lipstick.”

-How many times have I told you not to use your moose as a weapon?

-Stop licking people.

-Stop hitting the cat in the balls!

-Don’t sit on your sister’s head.

-Don’t pour your orange juice on the dog.

-Stop peeing on the dog!

-Don’t swear at nana.

-Don’t put the pencil in the cat’s butt.

-Don’t pee in the heat vent.

-Do not sniff the dog’s butt to say “hi.”

-No, you can not go out the doggie door and pee with them again.

-We don’t hang off of the fan blades!

-Stop trying to flush the cat down the toilet!

-What do you mean the cat fell out the window?

-Take the cat out of the microwave.

-The dog will poop out your tooth and we will find it and wash it off so that the tooth fairy can bring you a dollar.

-Get your toothbrush out of the oven.

-Stop licking the van.

-Please don’t swing the poo.

-If you hit your sister make sure you have a reason.

-Stop! There’s poop on the umbrella!

-Stop eating snow off the bottom of your boots!

-Stop putting things in your butt. It’s not a pocket!

-Stop twerking in the dog’s face.

-Sleeping with tacks on your pillow might not be the best idea.

-Don’t eat your sister’s boogers.

-Get your butt off your sister.

-We don’t touch other people’s heinies. No. I don’t care that they are squishy and make you laugh. Just no.

-Take all those bandages off the cat.

-Get that sword out of your nose!

-Stop putting your hand in your butt crack.

-Underwear does not go on the Christmas tree.

-Don’t put your sister in a suitcase.

-Stop biting the recliner!

-Stop sniffing the dog’s butt.

-Stop licking the dog’s teeth.

-Please get your finger out of your butt.

-Quit playing peek-a-boo with your penis.

-Don’t lick the cat.

-Get your tongue out of your nostril.

-Don’t color your sister’s vagina.

-Don’t put your light saber in the toilet.

-Don’t eat food out of your sister’s shoes.

-Don’t sniff your cousin’s genitals!

-Get the hamster out of your pants.

-Stop rubbing your wiener on the door frame.

-Let your sister out of the dog cage.

-Why is there poop on the wall?

-Mommy doesn’t want Graham crackers down her pants right now.

-Don’t put chap stick on the dog.

-Don’t pry open the dogs mouth and reach your hand down his throat to get your gum back.

-We do not put rubber bands on our penis.

-No, I will NOT sniff your finger!

-Please don’t poke your finger up my nose.

-Your hair is NOT a napkin.

-Do not drink out of the toilet!

-Get the cat out of the dishwasher!

AND…

-Keep your penis away from my computer!

HUGE thanks to all of my hilarious and amazing readers for sharing with me. xoxo

    

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February 24, 2014

A few days ago The Boy told me I was overprotective and paranoid, and guess what? It’s totally true.

My pregnancy with him was high risk, and having suffered the loss of a pregnancy before, I was immediately overprotective and paranoid.

I did everything my doctor told me to do and some things he wished I wouldn’t, like renting a monitor so I could listen to his heart beat every morning and every night and obsessing about it constantly.

When he was born I put him in a bassinet next to my side of the bed, propped myself up on pillows, and stared at him.

All. Night. Long.

Soon I was overprotective, paranoid, and completely out of my mind insane from lack of sleep.

And I was also a bit funky.

Not funky as in having a good dance rhythm, or funky as in Cold Medina, but funky as in “Holy hell woman, how long has it been since you bathed?” Because guess what? I was afraid to be away from him long enough to take a shower.

I was a psycho.

Finally, The Hub took the bull by the horns, or the crazy zombie lady by the greasy, tangled, hair, and said “I think it’s time to put The Baby in his crib in his own room because woman, you be losin’ your shit.”

Or something like that.

Don’t worry, as the years went on I got better.

But I’m still a little overprotective and paranoid.

The other day when The Boy asked me  if he could stop wearing his bicycle helmet because it’s “nerdy” and “none of my friends have to wear one!” I said a great, big, “Hell to the NO!”

And again he called me overprotective and paranoid.

But ya know what? WHATEVER. I don’t care. There’s no way in hell I’m giving the go ahead for him to remove something from his head that could save his life.

That’s me being overprotective and paranoid.

But if he decides to disobey me to fit in with his friends, then I can’t stop him. He will do what he’s gonna do.

And that’s me getting better.

As parents we all want to protect our kids no matter what.

But things are always gonna happen that we can’t control.

A few years ago he climbed a tree and he fell and broke his elbow.

A few years before that he fell off a couch (of all things) and broke his arm.

Shit happens. And most of it isn’t terrible: Bumps and scrapes and various mild injuries that they easily heal from.

But still, as a mother who thought she might not ever become a mother, I am on overprotective and paranoid. He’s all I’ve got and all I’ll ever have.

He’s about to turn 13, and although I’ve loosened up a good 70% or so since he was born (or before), I’ve got another 20% to go.

Yes, that’s only a total of 90%, but a mom can never truly stop being overprotective and paranoid, so shut up.

But I know that I can take all of the precautions that I take, and still something could happen, and as a parent, that’s my worst nightmare.

There are millions of overprotective parents out there who were on paranoid high-alert like me, and something still happened that they couldn’t control:

Their kids got sick.

Did you know that this year more children will die of cancer than all other diseases combined?

Before the age of 20, 1 in 300 boys and 1 in 333 girls will be diagnosed with cancer? And worldwide a child is diagnosed every 3 minutes.

But with enough money we can find a cure.

That’s where you come in. And I come in. And all the other parents who have felt what it feels like just to deal with your child having the flu, or getting a broken arm, come in. Take THAT feeling and multiply it by infinity and you still don’t even come close to feeling what these parents feel.

No matter how much you worry and try to protect, cancer can sneak up on you. There’s no helmet that can protect from that.

My friend Sheila, who writes an amazing blog called Mary Tyler Mom, knows this feeling all too well. She lost her 4-year-old daughter, Donna, to cancer. I don’t know how a mother makes it through something like that, but she did., and she came out on the other side having honored her daughter by writing about her journey and starting organizations to raise money to find a cure.

I stayed at Sheila’s house while I was in Chicago last summer, and from the minute I walked through the front door where Donna’s dance shoes hang, until the minute I left, I felt her spirit. Sheila keeps Donna’s spirit alive by talking about her journey and turning Donna’s illness into something that helps others.

This is Donna.

This is Donna.

This is Donna.

This is Donna.

This is Donna.

This is Donna.

Today is Donna Day. It’s a day where we honor Donna’s memory and raise money to help others.  You can click HERE to read about Donna’s Good Things and to donate under her team name. You can also choose to be a TOTAL BADASS and shave your head for charity through ST. Baldricks by clicking HERE if you want.

If you’re too big of a wussy (like me) to shave your head, you can order these really cool t-shirts HERE and support St Baldricks by wearing one while tossing around your luxurious, wussy, mane.

Super awesome t-shirts for pussies who won't shave their heads.

Super awesome t-shirts for pussies who won’t shave their heads.

Please help if you can. Even if you just share this post, THAT in and of itself would be amazing. I mean, not as amazing as growing some balls and shaving your damn head, but hey, it’s something! The more people that see this the better. Every dollar counts, and in 2 years the blogging community has helped to raise over $195,000 for this cause, so HELLO we are ALL capable of amazing things.

And if you haven’t met my friend Mary Tyler Mom, introduce yourself to her by reading THIS  as well as he entire collection of posts called “Donna’s Cancer Story.” because it’s totally and completely amazing and will put everything into perspective for you. I know it did that for me.

I’m slowly realizing that I can keep on being protective of The Boy, but I should also let him live a little because life is a gift and I can’t waste it by keeping him from doing things. I can’t control everything. None of us know how much time we have and living isn’t living if you can’t fall out of a tree once in awhile.

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