Category Archives: Funny to me

Dear People with No Kids

Any time I find out that someone has decided to not have kids my heart sinks just a little bit because I know what they’re going to miss out on…

You probably won’t experience looking at pictures from just 2 years ago and weeping because, “I was so pretty! AND SKINNY!”

Or remember that night that you had to take care of your sloppy drunk best friend that says she hates being the center of attention but totally loves being the center of attention? And she really needed to end the partying, but she was begging you to go to just one more bar and you were like, “Fine, I guess…” And then she puked on your shoes?

That’s one distant, almost funny in hindsight, memory for a childless person. That’s every night for 3 years for a parent.

You know how you’re pretty irritated with everyone’s opinion about this decision you’ve made about your own body that has no consequences for anyone else but you and yours? Imagine those opinions and resulting irritation spreading to every decision you make for the next 18 years. That’s modern day parenting.

But all of that’s just me being silly. I think all of us parents know what you’re missing out on.

A love that gives meaning to life.

A realization that, “Hey, this world is effed up, but this gift lets me know that everything is going to be ok.”

A relationship that you couldn’t even imagine, even while pregnant, that now? Now you know you couldn’t live without this special miracle by your side.

That’s right.


Image result for wipes

Childless People of America, do you know about the baby wipe? Do you know the awesomeness of carrying large amounts of said baby wipes with you at all times? Do you know how many disasters can be avoided because of a baby wipe? DO YOU KNOW HOW CLEAN YOUR CAR’S DASHBOARD CAN GET WITH A BABY WIPE?

Otis is going to grow up one day and leave and life is going to go on. And sure that love is awesome, but the baby wipe? The baby wipe opened my eyes to a whole new, perfect amount of moisture, world. Say I won’t always have a case of baby wipes on hand for the rest of my life.

Because I will.


Nesting or Adulting?

Our kitchen is a disaster. There’s empty cartons here, spilled something there. Every appliance we own is on the limited counter space. We have two pieces of tupperware not being used for leftovers no one will eat, the little one for dipping sauce (?) and the gigantic one for marinating small turkeys. The dishes are clean. I think. Maybe? It doesn’t really matter because we’re getting take out.

I know I bragged on our daddy-stays-home situation, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t come with its own set of issues. The kitchen is Mark’s domain. And part of my sanity rests in letting it be as clean or as messy as he wants it to be because mama doesn’t have time, energy, or mental resources to harass him about keeping his workstation clean. And that’s precisely how Mark’s kitchen looks, like a dude’s work bench in the garage. All the tools out, projects half done, and an empty pizza box.

True story? If it doesn’t bother him, it doesn’t bother me. If it were my kitchen, my workplace, it would probably be a leetle bit more organized, but not much. Our messiness threshold is pretty similar. And, one more time for those in the back of the room, not my kitchen, not my problem.

And then I got pregnant.

The other day I sat at work all day antsy to get home. Every fiber in my body needed to get home to clean that kitchen.

Mark: Are you mad?

Me: Nope, just looking around…

Mark: Are you sure?

Me: I’m positive. I’m about to clean this kitchen. And it isn’t a passive message to you. It’s just every cell in my body needs these crumbs from Christmas 2013 off my floor.

Mark: Ooooookaaaayyyyy…..

I do all the normal things that normal people do to make a kitchen look normal. This wasn’t like some deep cleaning where I’m cleaning the inside of cupboards or moving cereal from its perfectly good box into clear glass containers labeled “morning nibbles” or something. I just wiped down counters, threw away leftovers, hid appliances that we never used (I’m looking at you, Toaster), and swept the floor (see ya later, Christmas Crumbs of 2013).

Mark: So…. is this nesting?

Me: I’m not sure.

Mark: Did you nest with Otis?

Me: Yes. I made you find us an apartment so we could move out. Tweet, tweet.

Mark: Hahahahaha. Oh. Wait. You’re not joking. Well, I like it. You should nest more often. Well, I mean not more nesting. Nesting twice is enough. We’re done after this, right?

My face: 

Me: A ‘thanks’ is a perfectly acceptable response to this pregnancy-induced awesomeness.

Mark: Thank you for cleaning. And your hair looks really pretty.

Tomorrow I’ll do the laundry AND fold it. Maybe.

It’s An Emergency

Otis loves him some community helpers. Police. Firefighters. EMTs. These men and women are gods in his mind.

We regularly watch firefighter videos and EMT rap videos (yes, that’s a thing). We dress up as firemen and police officers. I get arrested and put in jail on the regular.

Well, yesterday Otis was finally able to come to the rescue in a real-life emergency.

We were playing outside and I scratched my leg because mosquitoes hate me… or love me? When I scratched my leg I must have opened up a small scab and started bleeding quite a bit.

Me: Otis, look. I’m bleeding!

Otis: Oh no!! You ok?

Me: No, I need a napkin. Can you go get me one from inside?

Otis is eager to complete his first emergency assignment. He hops up and starts walking inside. Halfway to the house he turns around and say, “Mom, I’m the doctor. It will be ok.”

I stay seated and listen as he bangs on the front door.


I’m dying.

Mark probably thinks this is Otis being weird and is ignoring him or maybe just can’t hear him. I don’t know. Either way, Otis’s life saving skills are not working, and just like his mom, he gives up pretty quickly and I hear him say to himself as he stands at the door, “Oh well.”

He walks back to me and shrugs his shoulders. “No napkin, Mommy. Sorry.”

I remind him that there’s a first aid kit in my car.

He races to get it out and gets to work on my wound. We’ve got q-tips and tongue depressors out because #newdoctor, and finally we get to dealing with my wound. He has me open the band-aid and he winces as he delicately places it over the scratch.

“Mom, you better?”

I grimace. “No, it still hurts. I can’t walk.”


He helps me up and asks me to practice walking on it. I insist I need crutches, but he firmly insists that I am fine.

His bedside manner needs some work, but overall I am thankful that all those hours of YouTube EMT videos paid off in my hour of need.

A Tuna Butt Walks into a Bar

Otis: Mom, let me see your tuna butt.

Me: My tuna butt?

Otis: (turning me around so he can see my butt) Yes, the tuna butt!

Mark: What is he talking about?

I have no clue. And I know I need to figure it out quickly because if you don’t know what Otis is talking about things get crazy fast.

So I fake it.

Me: The TUNA BUTT!!! OF COURSE!!! (shrug my shoulders at Mark and hope he knows to play along)





I changed the conversation quickly because if it became obvious that I had no clue what a tuna butt was then I’d be in big trouble with the Littlest Boss.

We went on the rest of the night uneventfully. Until bedtime.

Otis: Mom. Where’s the tuna butt?

Oh dear. I really wanted to sleep.


Otis: (speaking slower) Where is the turd in your butt?

Me: Wait. What? The turd? In my butt?

Otis: Yes! The turd in your butt!

Me: (yelling downstairs to Mark) Tuna butt is TURD IN YOUR BUTT!!!!!!!! I FIGURED IT OUT!!!!!!!!!! I’M THE BEST MOM IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!!!!!!!

Mark: You two are so weird.

Once I got over the ecstasy of knowing what my kid is talking about, I had lots of questions.

  • Where did he learn about turds?
  • Why is he looking for them?
  • Is this a high level fart joke?
  • Is my kid a comedic genius?

And with that, I’ll end this post with…

TUNA BUTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thursdays It Is

Mark and I were having a conversation about Hint, Hint the other day. Because after we became parents we conversate about Hint, Hint rather than, well, Hint, Hinting.

We’re veering dangerously close to becoming that couple that Hint, Hints based on the calendar. Now, listen, I don’t judge those couples at all, but you know how you have those ‘things’ you think you’ll never do or be? I never thought we’d be them, so I offered up a suggestion…

Me: Why don’t you just wake me up when you want to Hint, Hint? (Because part of our issue is that while getting Otis down for bed I always, always, ALWAYS fall asleep)


Me: What? It’s a perfect solution!!!

Mark: Do you know what you’re like when you’re woken up in the middle of the night?

Me: Um? Awesome?

Mark: You’re this weird, angry, delirious drunk.

Me: Take that back. I’m adorable. All day. Erry day.

Mark: Like the other day. You just start asking really demanding questions. “Does my mom need to pick him up? DOES MY MOM NEED TO PICK HIM UP?” And I’m, like, scared. How do I answer her? Does she want an answer? What am I supposed to do?!?

Me: Overruled!

Mark: And that’s not even the weird stuff you say. (Starts impression of just woken up Marie) “The slippery sidewalk! Turn left forty seven eight. The sidewalk! THE SIDEWALK!!! WHERE IS THE BEAR?!???!”


Mark: So, no I will not be waking you up to ask if you want to Hint, Hint.

Me: *Gets out calendar* What do Thursdays look like for you?

This also made me think about this post #ICrackMyselfUp

Ok, Google. Fold the laundry.

(After watching an Amazon Echo commercial)

Me: Do you think this whole “talk to your devices” is going to catch on? I just think it feels weird.

Mark: Yeah, I don’t know. I never use it.

Me: I just feel like a doofus talking to my phone like it’s a person. Like, “Google, should I wear a jacket?”

Mark: Does that work? (starts talking to his phone) Ok, Google. Should I wear a jacket?

Google: It is 46 degrees in Nashville and partly cloudy.

Mark: That was kind of cool.

Me: It was… ask it how old Madonna is.

Mark: Who cares?

Me: Just. Ask.

Mark: Look at all of this cool stuff it can do, though. Like set timers.

Me: Oh, and it can turn on the flashlight! Ok, Google turn on the flashlight. Ok, Google turn off the flashlight. THIS. IS. SO. COOL.

Mark: That is pretty cool.

Otis: Ok, Google. Get me a cookie.

Me & Mark: 

I know you think you “won parenting” because your kid appreciates Blue Skillet Death Metal or knows the difference between grass clippings and broccoli, but I think we all know who the real winner is here…


Nurse: (running into the delivery room) His heart rate is going crazy, what’s going on?
Me: (scared because there’s a baby coming) Ummm. I just rolled over?
Nurse: Let’s move you back… Yeah, that looks like it fixed it. Weird.

This scene happens 3. more. times.

Nurse: So, you’re not moving anymore. It’s like he’s throwing a fit every time you change positions. He probably needs a spanking as soon as he gets here…

And that, my friends, is what they call foreshadowing.


The drama did not end there.

Last month you asked us to put you in the trash bin. Yes, the trash bin where real trash goes. The one the garbage truck picks up. You wanted to be Oscar the Grouch and pretend your house (the trash can) was on fire.

We watched Dick van Dyke’s Bert sweep chimneys for hours on YouTube after you couldn’t get enough of Mary Poppins after watching the play at Lola’s school.

You beg me to “talk for” various inanimate objects, especially mowers and bulldozers. We have pulled over and had conversations with more bulldozers than I care to admit.

The things you’ll do for a laugh? The comedic timing and delivery? That sneaky grin when you know you’ve landed a joke perfectly? Those faces that communicate better than any words possibly could? You, sir, are the Amy Poehler to my Tina Fey #ComedicDuosFTW

From day one you have been my storyteller. You have added theater and emotion and drama and laughter and tears and love to my life. Thank you.

Last night you pulled your final show as a pre-schooler. You used big tear drops and begged for Daddy to come to bed. We all snuggled close and this conversation happened…

Otis: What’s this? (pointing to his nipples)
Mark: That’s your chest.
Otis: No. What’s these? (now pointing definitively at his nipples)
Mark: Those are… nipples.
Otis: What they do?
Me: …
Mark: Nothing. They do nothing.

After a little more giggling and hugging you drifted to sleep. And that was the conversation that ended Four.

Today we woke up to Five.

Allergies. Ugh.



I have no clue what Five holds, but I wonder if that conversation wasn’t just a little more foreshadowing from my favorite little storyteller…






And then we sang

I’m a softie.

Yeah. It’s true. I don’t have an assertive bone in my body.

This means that disciplining Otis has not come naturally to me over the last 4 years.

I realize I’m blowing minds. I’ll give you a  minute to marinate in my truth.

Well, much like high school and college, I have let things slide until the very last minute and now I’m all, “We have got to get this kid under control!” And Mark just looks at me like:

To be fair, my kid is pretty awesome out and about, but when we’re around just family? He thinks he rules the roost.

So I’ve taken up giving him The Look when he starts acting a fool.

One of my first attempts at using The Look did not have the results I was expecting.

Me: Otis, I’m going to need you to stop that.

Otis: (Does that again.)


Otis: Mommy, you mad?

(You guys. I write and giphy search at the same time. I rarely see a gif and write a post around it. So I just searched “you mad” and this goodness came up and I’m like, “And you say there’s no God?”)

Well, now I want to giggle because I’m an Olympic Gold Winning Giggler #truestory, but I also want a child that doesn’t end up in jail, so I stay strong.


Otis: Mommy. Are. You. Mad?

Crap. He just used all the words in a sentence. I want to cheer. I want to celebrate. He used “are”! But I must resist. And I fully engage the most lookiest Look I can muster.


My kid is unphased. He repeats his question a few more times. And then he realizes something. This question, “Mommy, are you mad?” It should be a song.


And the song isn’t even something cute and sing-songy. He busts out his operatic voice and is like,  “Mommy are you MAAAADDDDDDD??” Taking the “mad” real deep like he’s in Phantom of the Fooling Opera.


And, just like my first semester of engineering Chemistry my freshman year at Tennessee Tech, I waited too long and failed miserably.

Chuck E. Cheese and a Sibling Celebration

You guys know that Otis loves him some Chuck E. Cheese, right?

Oh, you didn’t?


That’s Otis after Chuck E. makes his appearance at some rando’s birthday party. Check out the video of this delightful moment here.

And then you know that Mark and I have been having THE conversation for approximately 5 years, right? The one about the sibling situation? You know which conversation I’m talking about… that conversation.

Well, we have some exciting news to announce!!!

That’s right!!!


We’re helping Chuck E. Cheese raise money for Big Brothers Big Sisters on March 31st!!

As a kick off to Chuck E. Cheese’s month long national donation drive in April, they are hosting a fundraising night on Thursday, March 31st from 3pm-9pm and anyone who mentions BBBS will have 15% of their sale donated back to Big Brothers Big Sisters! Big Brothers Big Sisters is an incredible organization and the money CEC raises will help them match volunteers with children. For the entire month of April you can donate $1, $5 or any amount of their choice to BBBS and celebrate by pinning your name up for contributing.

We will be at the Hickory Hollow location that Thursday doing the Chuck E. Cheese dance because we know it. And we do it. ALL. THE. TIME. (Thanks, YouTube.)


Share a video of your kid(s) yelling for Chuck E. or a pic of your kid at CEC or just a selfie of you tired and wishing you could just take them to CEC so you could browse Instagram in peace on Instagram and tag me (@marieoates) and Chuck E. Cheese (@chuckecheese) in it and you’ll be entered to win a guest pass (1 large pizza, 4 drinks, and 30 tokens) PLUS 1,000 tickets. Do you know how many rubber dinosaurs you can get with 1,000 tickets? ALL THE RUBBER DINOSAURS.

Share your pic by noon on March 23rd to be eligible to win. I’ll announce a winner on Thursday, March 24th!

Play because it’s fun and it proves you love your kids and want to take them to fun places where a kid can be a… wait for it… kid!

Also, if you’re looking for fundraising opportunities I’d totally check out working with Chuck E. Cheese and friends!

How to Lose Your Keys in 7 Easy Steps

Step 1
Drive places using your keys. Unlock doors using your keys. Be completely ungrateful for the power and freedom your keys provide you.

Step 2
Get home. Put your keys down BUT NEVER IN THE SAME PLACE. Bonus points if you can put your keys down in completely ridiculous places like in your kid’s bucket of legos, under the couch cushion, on top of the dryer.

Step 3
See your keys in ridiculous place. Leave them there and make a mental note to remember in the morning. After you’ve slept.

Step 4
You’re going to be late for that thing you’re always late for because you think it takes 15 minutes to get everywhere in Nashville. This has nothing to do with keys. Just a fact.

Step 5
Panic! Your keys! They are gone! You’re going to be late!

Step 6
Tear up the house looking for keys and get mad that other people (specifically your husband) exist #logic

Step 7
Find keys because prayer works and vow to put them on the table next to the door like your husband that never loses anything does.

Repeat. Every day. For the rest of your life.