Let’s face it. I’m tired.

too tired

This is a List of Things That Make me Tired.

By: Momsie

  1. People who just say, “I’m just sayin'” at the end of an obnoxious statement, thinking that somehow “I’m just sayin” makes it not obnoxious. I’m just sayin.
  2. Instagram pictures that involve abs and something called an Acai bowl.
  3. Commercials during football games. Beer and Viagra. On repeat. It confuses my children.
  4. When Kansas City Royals players just LEAVE us for OTHER teams simply because of MONEY I mean where is your LOYALTY. You must STAY WITH US FOREVER.
  5. The fact that the Royals players make so much money and that they are actually in a place where they think like this: “Well, I make fifty kajillion here, but over there I could make sixty kajillion so it’s actually a negotiating point, that last ten kajillion,” where I am thinking my head would explode if one kajillion just sauntered by and just waved at me.
  6. I need to get off my Royals kick. Sorry guys. I love you, Royals. Hugs!


7. When my student turns in an entire paper he cut and pasted off of the internet and then insists that somehow he had no idea how that could have possibly happened. (True story. Just happened today. I’m still processing.)

8. Those shirts without the shoulders? They just make me feel cold.

9. When my post starts to double-space without permission and now I’m stuck in double-space land for some reason.

10. Whenever I go a little crazy and say something like, “Hey kids! Let’s make these cookies/craft/happy family project together. It’ll be fun!” because then, within about five minutes, it is so not fun. It’s all a conspiracy.

11. Any sort of situation that involves me calling customer service in any capacity for whatever reason. It doesn’t matter how good I’m feeling, how great my hair is, how wonderful the weather is outside, once I start pushing 1-800 on my phone my life loses all meaning and I no longer feel the will to breathe.

12. When anyone, anywhere, says “I am shook.” Only Beyonce can say that. If you learn anything from this post; if there is any sort of takeaway at all, it’s this: Don’t mess with Beyonce.

13. When I take the car into for an oil change and they ask me if I need my fluids flushed. I NEVER KNOW. I NEVER KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS EXACTLY AND IT FEELS TOO PERSONAL FOR THEM TO BE ASKING ME THAT.

14. When I make homemade macaroni and cheese with butter and cream and all sorts of momma’s love and goodness, and my son says he doesn’t like it because it’s “slippery.” I just nod and tell him, “That was what I was going for, son. Slippery.”

15. Moms who bring homemade cake pops in the shape of ALL the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to school for their child’s birthday. I love you, moms. I do. You go, with your baking skills and knowledge of pop culture. I’m just gonna sit over here with a cup of coffee and my Little Debbie.

16. This post. It just goes on and on. It’s tiring.

17. People who say things like: “The trick to getting up at 5 am to work out is to sleep in your workout clothes.” Like somehow, sleeping in a running bra will make me more vigorous in the morning. Instead, I just feel… constrained. And thus, more grumpy. Plus, I slide all around in the sheets because spandex and that is not proper bedtime etiquette. Unless you’re into that sort of thing. Nudge nudge, wink wink.

18. People who actually try to get away with saying, “Nudge nudge wink wink.”

19. When one of my wee children approaches me and says, “Mom? Do you want to discuss Minecraft? I gotta free hour and a powerpoint presentation here. Have a seat.”

20. Nothing about you. Nothing ever ever about any of you poor darlings, my sweet readers, who actually made it through the randomness that is this post.


Today’s post was brought to you by:

  1. Not enough coffee.
  2. Grumpiness and kinda a total feeling of disbelief due to #7.
  3. Kate Motaung and her Five Minute Friday wonderfulness. And yes, today’s theme was:



Learning Curve

Linking up with Five Minute Friday today!

The theme is:

Screenshot 2015-08-14 08.55.52

It’s a teensy weensy bit possible I have an issue with perfectionism.

I know. It’s one of those “okay” issues. Not like some of the other, *cough* BIG ‘isms’ I have problems with…

This is the one that you can tell people about, as your cross to bear, when they interview you and ask for your flaws.

“Well…” you say, eyes downcast, with humility blaring out of every pore, “I tend to have a bit of a problem with perfectionism…”

And then, WHAMMO, you get the job! Because, you KNOW, and they KNOW that this is GREAT! Who wouldn’t want someone working for them that is willing to wear themselves down to bloody nub to make sure everything is Just. Exactly. Right!??

Unless, of course, you work for these bozos:

photo 4

This is their normal attire. The dress code around here is INTENSE.

Anyhow. I think it’s about time to lay down the perfectionism and give it up to God. Really. REALLY. For once and for all – I gotta let it GO.


My main problem with that is, well, I tend to be rather all-or-nothing on life skills. (I do realize too that this directly stems from, um, OTHER ‘isms’ in life… like, yes, I’ll say it, the alcoholism…

Not to mention the:




grumpyatfiveocklockism (ooo that’s a bad one)



But, I’m just gonna go for one thing at a time!

So, today? I will accept that my five year old has his underpants on backwards. It’s his second day of kindergarten. Small potatoes.

Also, that the haircut I gave my six year old kinda makes him look like the guy from Dumb and Dumber.

That the lunch I packed for Blonde does not look like something from Pinterest. Nor will it ever. EVER.

That I cannot, for the life of me, keep this house in the pristine condition that I see in my MIND all the time (darn you, Pinterest!)

That I overuse garlic and underuse basic common sense in cooking.

That I refuse to get in shape because it might hurt.

That… oh heckfire. The list goes ON and ON. You know the list. We all have them.

I think today is a good day to write them down and burn them. *shakes fist with fervor* BURRRRRRN themmmmm I say!!!!!

But, while I’m doing so? I try no tot notice the jungle-length grass and that my backyard looks like a Toys ‘R Us  Graveyard for Old and Broken Things. (I do suggest burning list OUTSIDE, ok? At least I have that much sense. Burning the house down in an effort to vanquish perfectionism kinda works against itself.)

When the perfectionist fairy comes flying by and sweetly reminds you that your life is rather nutty? Just swat her away and repeat after me: “Coffee and Jesus. Coffee and Jesus… That’s all I need.” I am learning, with His help to let go.

Tomorrow? I’m gonna work on the grumpyism one. Wish me luck. You know what I am learning? That there’s a steep learning curve in this house, and for that I am VERY GRATEFUL.


But, I’m trying! Progress, not perfection ya’ll. Thank goodness.

Tired. Both the person and the writing.

ExhaustedMomQuoteThe old “but it’s a good tired,” is here.

This is like telling someone in Hell that it’s a dry heat.

I am so tired I am typing this through sheer will and a last spurt of final dying breath to get the word out to you, my readers, that I love you, and it’s been good and all, but holy hot sauce, this Momsie is no more. I have ceased to be. I’m expired, late, stiff… bereft of life. THIS IS an EX-Momsie.

If this were a Disney movie, we are all at the last twenty minutes of Old Yeller.

Or. I’m the mom in Bambi. Or Cinderella. Or that fish movie where the mom bites it right at the beginning and my children freak out and never let me watch any more of it, even though I try to talk them into it with, “It’s a Disney movie, y’all. It’s gonna end happily, I promise!” because I think it’s funny. And they’re all looking up phone numbers for local therapists because the MOM DIED in the movie, how in the world does a happy ending blossom out of that?

Yep. I’m that mom.

Well, wait, that’s confusing. Am I the dead fish mom, or the one who wants my kids to watch the dead fish mom, you know, because it’s funny?  Well, both, of course.


I’m so tired the thought of making dinner tonight made me sob a little. I considered microwaving some hot dogs but oh good gravy that means ketchup and I just can’t. I can’t.

Please don’t make me get the ketchup out of the fridge. It will be the end of me, and I mean it.

And also, I have to now look up the spelling: ketchup. Or catsup?

Oh, I can’t even go on.

I’m so tired. My son just spent twenty minutes in the bathroom, came out, all nonchalant with his underpants in his hand, and then proceeded to plonk his tiny white Hazmat-situation bum all over my oriental rug in the living room, and all I did was flutter a hand at him and then I looked away. “The horror…” I whispered. But, did I get up, grab my Lysol, and start squeegeeing him? No.

I’m just so tired.

I’m so tired I don’t even think I can write this. I have to put two boys to bed and I am not. I am so not. They’re on their own.

“Kids,” I say weakly, “Go on up. Put on jammies. Get in bed. Go to sleep. We’ll meet again, soon. Until then,” I flutter my finger at them and croak, “I’ll be right here.” I aim for my heart but there’s still some ice cream on my shirt as I look down, so I instead swipe it off and lick, which makes Blonde suspicious:

“You’ll be where? On your shirt? And… And what’s that? What IS that?” he starts to approach, his nose all quivering like an ice cream detecting drug dog. Red, always able to hone in on dairy, also starts my way. Steve the cat, a pathetic follower, well, follows.

This is it. This is the end. My children and the cat are now slowly approaching me because I smell like butter pecan and some chocolate jimmies, and they’re gonna eat me. It’s the Walking Dead. With sprinkles.

I am just so very, very tired.

Too tired to write this.












This post was sponsored by: too many pop references to count.