Can it be cured?

"You can't handle the truth!"

OK. Well I think we’ve all seen this cartoon before… it’s nothing new. But I’d like to mention that, when I see my doctor this Friday for my migraines and my bum knee, it’s entirely possible I might look like this. It’s entirely possibly that this poor mom’s other shoe is currently filled with legos and floating in the bathtub. It’s entirely possibly that the popsicle stick is in her hair after she pried its sticky remnants off the couch, and, decided to tuck it behind her ear after observing the trash had been turned upside down so her sons could use the bin to build Fort Smelly. It’s also entirely possible the migraines will be blamed on yelling at the children and the bum knee on chasing after them with clothes when they are running naked through the hallways. It’s entirely possible the doctor will have no sympathy. (She has kids. She makes it to a paying job. She even looks put together, too.) And, it’s also entirely possible I will be requesting Percocet and Valium.


Future Farmers of America

During my most recent trip to the Botanical Gardens, I discovered just how “country” my boys could be, despite having never lived anywhere but suburbia their whole lives. It’s amazing to me what kids will do in the name of pretend play, but ask them to do the “real deal” and you’d think we’ve asked them to hold still while we rip off their toenails one by one.

Turkey in the straw.

Stylin’ in his John Deere shirt, Matt spent most of his morning sweeping hay out of the barn. Now I’ll be fair: Matt does enjoy this at home. Give him a play broom or vacuum and he really thinks he’s helping mommy. I’ve just never seem him so mesmerized by his duties as he was that day.

Washboard Blues.

Nate was equally thrilled with old-school laundry. After he got them all nice and clean he folded them with military precision. Like, really took his time folding each article, as if it were the American flag or something. Then he hung them out in the breeze with neither hesitation nor a moment to hook the clothespins on his nose. This will go great with his new chore of putting his own laundry away. Now if only I could get him to put his dirty clothes in the hamper…

Last but certainly not least, this is my favorite:

Stand still, Bessie!

Nate and some random kid spent half their day swinging from the teets of the cow, which you could really milk… errr… water. Like a lot of men out there, they just couldn’t seem to get enough. Once they got the hang of it, they worked together and had this simultaneous milking rhythm going. They were udderly amazed by the process.

In conclusion, I think it’s fair to say that if the future suddenly becomes less bright for Denny, our family won’t starve because I’ll be pimping my boys out as hired help. Child labor laws are different here in the state of corn…


I can totally relate. I love the peacefulness of Kroger’s or Scott’s at about 10 p.m. on a week-night. Just me and all the other asylum-seeking moms, and no boys screaming “Give me a lollipop!” “I want this!” “You’re mean!” Or, my personal favorite: “If you don’t buy this for me, you’re not my mommy anymore…” Great, kid, I’ll just leave you here in the store with all the other fruits and nuts until someone else buys you and takes you home. I’ll be back when that family returns you and Kroger’s tracks me down via my Personal Tracker (I mean “Shopper”) Card.

Has anyone else landed in a 24-hour grocery store late at night and debated not returning home? After all, it worked for Natalie Portman in Where the Heart Is…  Of course, she is very lucky she didn’t end up in a “The People of Wal-Mart” video.

Pi**ed Off

Dear Amy,
Husbands are like big children so how the heck do we get them to aim in the toilet bowl not the floor in the bathroom and how do we get them to pick up after themselves. i am really at a loss here. I was giving him M&M’s for each time he did something right but he is diabetic and he should not have chocolate. any help would be great.

Dear Jennifer,

I am confused: Were you giving your kids M&M’s, or your husband? If you gave your husband M&M’s and it did the trick, a billion+ ignorant wives should be kicking themselves in the ass right now for failing to recognize and utilize this simplistic fix. Husbands are like a box of chocolate: You never know what you’re going to get until it’s too late for an annulment. Sometimes they’re sweet: But they leave behind a big mess. And sometimes they’re just bittersweet. Sometimes they’re great: They help decorate, never leave a mess behind, love to go shopping with you, and you think you’ve died and gone to heaven, until they run off with another man. One thing is for certain: They DON’T pick up after themselves. Can’t help you there.

Not sure I can really help with the toilet bowl aim, either. That sort of thing is taught at a young age, debated by wives of all ages, and largely remains an unsolved mystery. Even Robert Stack peed on the toilet seat. I do, however, have a couple suggestions for comedy’s sake:

It worked for Nemo, and perhaps it will work for your kids, too. My kids believe their urine ultimately ends up in the Atlantic ocean, which is probably why they hate beach vacations. If your kids believed it, maybe their aim would improve.







“If you can’t beat ’em: Join ’em.” Choose either of these two models, and no one else will have to know the men in your life pee all over the seat.

And last but certainly not least, especially for you and all the blue-blooded fans out there, give them something you don’t mind them pissing on:

Michiganders drool and Buckeyes rule!

Go Bucks,

Dear Amy