Do you see this?

You know what it is, right?

That’s right. It’s a Girl Scout Cookie Order Form.

A blank one, obviously.

Kind of like the Girl Scout Cookie Form in my home.

Which is not blank, in fact is so not blank that it holds the names of 100 people who ordered Girl Scout Cookies from my daughter, but kind of like the blank one you see here because I lost the form and have no idea who these people are and what they ordered, so it might as well be blank.

Oops. Sing it with me, Britney.

Three years ago, I lost my daughter’s Girl Scout Cookie Order Form and learned the hard way to always make a copy. Which I did the next year and the year after.

But this year I thought to myself, “Copy, schmoppy. I never lose things anymore. I haven’t lost my keys since my husband gave me the key hang-er up-er thingy, I’ve stopped putting my wallet on top of my car and driving away, I still have my umbrella from Hurricane Irene, and I kept one pair of gloves for almost the entire winter until my son borrowed them and lost them and that doesn’t count because even though he is my blood relation, he must have lost them due to a recessive gene from my husband’s side, because I never lose things anymore, as previously stated in this thought to myself.”

Too bad my husband didn’t give me a Girl Scout Cookie Order Form safety deposit-er box-y thingy.

In case you’re wondering, I already checked my t-shirt drawer and the laundry basket, because, holy cow, wouldn’t it be funny if I did that again? I would just fall out laughing, wouldn’t you? And how much funnier would it be if I fell out laughing rather than fell out in the stress-related teeth-gnashing way that I actually fell out when I realized that I had once again lost the freakin’ Girl Scout Cookie Order Form?

Does anyone know a good tattoo artist? Because next year, I’m having it inked into my flesh.


All Hail My Erma Bom-Bust

by Shari on March 18, 2014

Well, it’s that time again, folks! The time when I publish my non-winning Erma Bombeck essay and congratulate all the winners. Enjoy this and if you have time, hop over to my friend Ann’s hilarious also-non-winning essay on Ann’s Rants. Booyah!


50 is the new 50

I just heard of a study that says women outlive men by an average of seven years. This is terrific news because my husband is seven years younger than me and now I can plan on us kicking off right around the same time.

Our age difference has never been much of an issue, even though my husband is so ridiculously fresh-faced that when he leaves for work sporting glasses, suit, and briefcase, he looks like a near-sighted Catholic school student who’s hiding his Avengers lunch box. If you think I’m exaggerating, consider the fact that upon their first meeting, my mother spontaneously yelped, “Good God, could you lose some hair or black out a couple of teeth? You look like her nephew!”

His dewiness notwithstanding, I never had a problem with my child groom until recently, when a milestone birthday put us in different decades.

I’d cleverly skipped having to deal with this emotional funkiness twice before; once, when I put off our wedding until a week after his 30th birthday so the extra nudge of maturity would convince him to wear a tux instead of his frat hoodie; and on my 40th, when my gloriously bulging belly shouted to the world, “I’m just as young and fertile as this teenager who impregnated me!”

But now I am 50. And my husband is still in his 40s. His early 40s. And suddenly that gap between us has stretched out like the nightmare hallway in “Poltergeist” and I’m JoBeth Williams getting sucked into the freakin’ light.

How did this happen?! How did my blasé “what’s seven years?” turn into a full-fledged “I’m-the-only-one-past-midlife” crisis? Victor Hugo wasn’t thinking of my marriage specifically when he said, “40 is the old age of youth; 50 the youth of old age”, but let me tell you, a geezer child and beginner biddy can make for strange bedfellows.

I recently confessed my anxious thoughts to my manboy and he looked perplexed. “We’ve always been seven years apart”, he said slowly, as if speaking to the Geriatric Village Idiot. “I know, but is it weirder now that we’re in different decades?” He thought for a moment. “I think it’s sexy. Like, Nancy Miller sexy.”

Ah, Nancy Miller. The famous 16-year old babysitter of a 9-year old, fresh-faced boy with an Avengers lunchbox and a dream of boinking on the family’s barcalounger. And somehow, just like that, I went from Silver Sneakers to Saucy Governess.

I may have married down in years, but in everything else, I married up.


Worst Date Ever. Swear.

February 14, 2014

This tragic tale is part of the “Worst Date Ever” blog hop, started by the widely-dated Nancy Kho of Midlife Mixtape. See below to hop around and read other tales of woe. And here’s to marriage, btw. Oh, my friends, when I was presented with this topic, I had a veritable smorgasbord of cruddy evenings [...]

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My spice cabinet is judging me.

February 5, 2014

I found this in my spice cabinet yesterday. I thought it was bread crumbs. I needed bread crumbs and so I decided that these were bread crumbs. I went so far as to slice the raw chicken and dip it in egg, as if this bold act of poultry prep could will this to be [...]

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#WhereILivedWednesday 1st Street & 1st Avenue

January 23, 2014

This post is part of the series #WhereILivedWednesday started by my dear friend Ann Imig of Ann’s Rants, so head on over there and read all the memories of former domiciles. “First & First”, we called it. In 1990, the cross-street of First Street and First Avenue was not only not the hipster land it [...]

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Let’s get beautiful with the crap lying around your house

January 17, 2014

“Microdermabrasion”? With that many syllables, it’s gotta be good! Bargain Basement Beauty 3 on NickMom from me and the always smooth-skinned Wendi Aarons.   Get More: funny videos and explore all things funny, just for moms at NickMom

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Thanks so much for introducing our children to the Zombie Apocalypse

January 15, 2014

THE TOP TEN REASONS I’M PEEVED WITH MY HUSBAND FOR LETTING OUR CHILDREN WATCH “THE WALKING DEAD” MARATHON 10. I leave the house for ONE DAY IN THE PAST FOUR YEARS and this is what you come up with? 9. I distinctly recall saying “Play Monopoly”, not “acquaint our children with the infectious flesh-eating undead”. [...]

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Ring Around The Wha?

January 6, 2014

It seems that I have a mini female Tim Burton on my hands. Following the raging success of her horror novella, Good Luck Bella, my daughter has already changed her medium to film. I hope you will enjoy her “Ring O’ Roses”. Just don’t plan on sleeping tonight.

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A Little Bit Pregnant

December 21, 2013

We already know that one can be a lot pregnant. But there’s an old saying, “you can’t be a little bit pregnant”. I beg to differ. Oh, don’t get excited. We all know I’m not talking about my literal womb, since I’ve (unfortunately) frequently (with apologies) written about my menopausal state. You see, there are [...]

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The Elf on the Shelf… in your personal space.

December 17, 2013

I had to do it. My apologies to the purists. Dusty notes: If you like this video, feel (very) free to share it! Sharing is caring! And if you like everything about everything here, don’t forget to Like Earth Mother just means I’m dusty on Facebook! Is my enthusiasm and my overuse of exclamation points [...]

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