All I wanted was a damn cookie!

Last weekend we attended my 8 y/o daughter's Autumn Festival at her elementary school.  We attended this very same festival last year and much to my surprise it wasn't that bad.  The crowds were light, you could just walk right up to the game booths, and they were practically giving away sugar cookies with frosting.  You know the kind. The Lofthouse, melt in your mouth, I know I shouldn't be eating this but I swear it has crack inside of it because I can't put it down, cookie. 

This year with the promise of a sugar cookie, I agreed to go with the hubby and daughter.  I noticed right away that the parking lot was suspiciously full when we arrived.  Not a good sign.  Inside my daughter's tiny school was wall to wall people.  I immediately began to feel claustrophobic and quite honestly a little nauseated.  It was hot, crowded and the people standing in line next to me at the ticket booth weren't wearing any deodorant.  Damn Portland hippies!  I nearly barfed up my turkey burger. 

As I stood in lines that resembled Splash Mountain from Disneyland, I began to regret coming.  But I held out on the promise of a fattening, delicious, and sure to eventually cause type 2 diabetes cookie.   My hubby had to keep reminding me to not make my "poopy face" as he calls it.  Honestly I don't even notice i'm doing it.  What can I say?  I'm a people person. 

My hubby had to hold me back when one rude mom decided her little darling shouldn't have to stand in line at the bowling booth like the rest of us, so she totally line cut.  I'm convinced there's a special place in hell for line cutters.  I got several deep, elbow nudges from the hubby as he gave me the raised eyebrow, "Don't you dare start something" look.   I went to my deep calming place.  I thought about my cookie. 

We made it through the pumpkin painting booth, face painting booth, fishing booth, the reach into the pumpkin and guess which disgusting substance is inside the pumpkin booth, and many, many others.  The only booth we didn't go too was the classroom that had been converted into a makeshift dance club.  I'm a fairly big Michael Jackson fan, but my eyes simply cannot handle a room full of pre-pubescent kids trying to dance to Thriller.  Nope, not even the promise of a cookie could talk me into this one! 

The festival was coming to a close, so we fought our way through the crowds and back into the cafeteria so I could get my precious cookie, when that's when I saw it.   The freaking cookies were GONE! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! I almost collapsed right there on the ground and cried.  You don't lure a chubby mom with a sweet tooth to a school event with the promise of a cookie, when you don't plan on delivering!  I gave my hubby the silent treatment all the way out to the car.  Was it his fault?  Nope.  Was I acting extremely unfair and immature?  Yep.  Next year I have a plan.  I will park my fat butt in front of the cookie booth and he can go fight the crowds with our daughter. 

A Halloween my teen will never forget

My 13 y/o daughter is a bit of a challenge.  She's feisty, headstrong, stubborn, thinks she knows everything.  She's never wrong.  Ever. You know the typical teenage stuff.   

She's been pestering us for about a week to let her wear her Halloween costume to school today.  I didn't think it was a good idea.  For one that stinking costume cost a lot of money and I was worried it was going to get ruined.  Second, I kept questioning her why she even wanted to wear a costume to school (she's in the 8th grade).  She insisted that everyone was going to wear a costume and she would just curl up and die if we didn't let her wear it (did I mention she's dramatic too?)   My hubby told her she could wear her Dorothy costume, provided she wore some pants under the dress because the skirt is a bit short for our liking and there was no way we were going to let her wear a short skirt with bare legs to school. 

This morning she got up super early and probably spent about two hours in the bathroom getting ready.  Funny how she's always too tired to unload the dishwasher, but she can get up at 5 am if that means getting dolled up for an event. 

At my daughter's school they don't let the kids into the building until a certain time so the entire student body stands out front of the school's front doors.  I don't blame the school officials.  I'm not particularly fond of teenagers either.  This buys the staff a few precious minutes to slam some coffee and tell themselves they love their job and today is not the day to jump off the roof (okay that's what i'd be doing if I taught middle school).  

As i'm parked next to the curb watching the students walk across the street towards the school, I noticed something funny.  No one was wearing a costume.  I repeat, NO ONE was wearing a costume!  I could tell my daughter was getting a little anxious as she peered out the window and watched with horror as each car unloaded a group of kids dressed in jeans and hoodies.   As she nervously stepped out of the van, dressed head to toe in a gingham Dorothy dress, leggings, high heeled ruby slippers (with glitter), and her hair in braids (complete with a big blue bow), she asked, "Mom, do I look crazy because none of the other kids are wearing costumes?"  My response to my difficult daughter that gives me handfuls of grey hair and acid reflux?  "No, not at all." 

I drove away with butterflies in my stomach as I suddenly pictured myself in that movie worthy scenario.   Let's just say that today i'm thankful that i'm 34 and not 13.  And i'm fairly certain that this will be a Halloween that she will never, ever, forget. 

What's the opposite of a soccer mom? ME! Post #4

Oh boy I don't even know where to start with this one.  I know it's been about a month since my last soccer post (if you haven't read the other three soccer posts in my series, you may be a little confused). Honestly i've been attending my 13 y/o daughter's games and they really aren't that exciting.  Canopy dad is still the same old canopy dad, but other than him, there really isn't anyone to blog about.

To mix things up a little bit I decided to attend my 8 y/o daughter's game, while my hubby attended our teen's game.  What a difference this made!  Most of the parents were fine, but the family standing to my left was straight up annoying! You remember the sea hag? She had nothing on the umbrella mafia.  It took every bit of restraint I had not to shove my jumbo sized umbrella straight up their butt cracks!

I arrived at the game today in the pouring rain.  I set up my mother f@cking fold out chair, opened my huge umbrella (yes, i'm starting to get the hang of this crap), covered my legs with my lap blanket, and plopped down for yet another fun filled game in the torrential downpour.

I noticed right away that the opposite team was huddled up under a large, stand up tent, complete with one of those huge Gatorade dispensers (I think someone is taking their job as soccer coach a little too seriously).  Our girls bring their own water bottles, and do not require the shelter of a tent! Tents are for outdoor weddings, not soccer games.  My mind immediately thought of Will Ferrell from Kicking and Screaming, AKA the super coach from hell, complete with a group of doucheneozzle parents that I wanted to trip with my umbrella handle.

The tent pic (our team stood in the rain). 

They are warriors! 

As soon as the game started I couldn't help but notice the crazy umbrella mom wearing the not so flattering mom jeans to my left.  She immediately began to scream.  Seriously, she put the canopy dad to shame.  It was non stop screaming, jumping and flailing throughout the entire game.  I get that you're excited and want to cheer on your kid.  I occasionally cheer for my daughter or her team mates, but when you start acting more immature than my toddlers, that's when I have an issue with you.

See, here's the thing, Mrs. Unflattering Mom Jeans, when you whisper to your obnoxious tweenage darlings to "Stand in front of the other parents so they can't see the game" then you are a douchenozzle.  Here's a tip: Whispering is supposed to be done in a quiet voice that no one else around you can hear, however, you sounded more like a toy that just got new batteries installed.  Then you proceeded to look around and smirk at the fact that you are blocking everyone's view.  I get it. You're an entire family of buttholes. I'm not impressed.

I didn't get the mom in this one but this is the dad 

and the tweenagers who made my game experience miserable. 

Furthermore when you annoy the entire section with your ear piercing screams, maybe it's time to have a pep talk with yourself.  There's a reason no one from your own team sat anywhere near you. They don't like you.  And there are no words for your tweenage brats.  No, scratch that.  I have plenty. You may think it's cute and funny that your "much to old to be acting that way" daughter's are having an umbrella fight and screaming and twirling around all of the innocent bystanders nearly jabbing out my eye with their f@cking umbrellas, but no one else thought it was cute, nor funny.  Did you catch that?  No one (and I do mean no one) found your Cinderella evil step-sister worthy daughters cute.

What really disturbs me is that I was forced to spend the entire game staring at your husband's behind which was strategically located right in front of me and my one and only thought was that i'm sorry you have to see it naked every night.  Oh and don't yell, "We're tied now" at the top of your lungs when you aren't even close.  Wishful thinking does not make you a winner. The reality is your team really could've used Will Ferrell to turn your team around.  And please, tell your girls to toughen up and rub some salt on it!  Good grief!  We had to stop the game about a million times because your team got hurt every two minutes (and that's being generous as it felt more like every 30 seconds).  Our team got kicked just as often, but the difference is they kept going and never once cried or complained.

And is an umbrella tunnel really necessary?

Apparently so, but notice i'm not participating.  

This one's called poopy flavored lollipops because I can't think of a title

Today I played a little game in hopes that it would lift my drooping spirits (too bad it wont help with drooping breasts but that's for another post).  I hid the bag of mini 3 Musketeers bars and the kids are running around in a panic trying to find it.  This has allowed me to sit down at the computer for 5 minutes in hopes that some words would flow out of my keyboard.  So here I go….these are the thoughts that run through my head on any given Friday (really you should just turn away right now because this post that follows is most likely to be a train wreck).

My good jokes have run scarce lately just like toilet paper in this house, which you all know is liquid gold when you have 7 people in the house and buy the Winco brand cheapy packs in order to save money.  Hey, judge all you want, but we can't afford the $8 mega packs of Charmin.  Instead we buy two, $4 packages of Angel Soft in a week (AKA it will stick to your hiney like glue), and yes, I realize that I end up spending the same amount as if I just bought the damn Charmin, but it makes me feel like i'm saving money.

Someone from my past who will remain nameless has been a big doody head and has caused me so much stress lately that my IC is saying, "We're going to make you feel like you're peeing out razor blades for the next week."  I would reach in and rip out my bladder if I could figure out how to pee without it. And yes, now i'm just being graphic.  Run away while you still can fellow bloggers! Run away!

Peanut has decided that sleeping is something that only people in China do, and I hate all Oregon drivers.  Yep, hate them.  Today some jackwagon pulled out in front of me like his freaking life depended on it, only to slam on his breaks and drive 5 mph.  And please, don't even get me started on the dipshits in the carpool lane at my daughter's school!  I mean it says in big, bold letters…..DROP OFF ZONE ONLY. DO NOT PARK YOUR CAR. DRIVER TO REMAIN BEHIND THE WHEEL.  So, why then, dear fellow Oregon driving parents, do you INSIST on parking your car and hogging up the one and only drop off zone, so I have to find a parking spot, walk 4 blocks in the rain, making my daughter late for school again, and i'm forced to walk her into the office in my pajamas with my mouth clenched shut (because honestly I haven't had a chance to brush my teeth yet, so i'm unable to actually speak to anyone because I have morning breath that is pretty brutal considering the last thing I ate last night was barbecue chicken pizza at midnight.)

To the lady who called into the radio show this morning and didn't know the answer to today's movie trivia, you are as useful as a poopy flavored lollipop.  This was the clip: "I was in here yesterday and you wouldn't wait on me? You people work on commission, right? Big mistake. Big. Huge. I have to go shopping now." Your answer of "Um, I think it was Eat, Pray, Love" made me feel better about my life, so perhaps I should thank you for being a moron.

I could honestly go on and on with this post but I think that's enough hatred and dysfunction for one Friday afternoon.   Oh and my kids are now reaching the manic stage of their candy bar search.  I'll admit, i'm finding it pretty entertaining and it's been awhile since i've felt like smiling.  Blogging. Cheaper than therapy, and more fun than hitting yourself upside the head with a 2x4 (or at least I think, as i've actually never tried this.)

Making cooking fun for children

This is a sponsored post for Anchor, not written by myself.  I hope you will enjoy these great tips on how to get your kids to enjoy cooking! 

One of the best ways to ensure kids get a healthy, balanced diet is getting them involved with cooking their own meals! Starting with even the tiniest pair of hands, there are dozens of ways to get kids active in the kitchen and teaching them to cook great tasting food from scratch. Most of the time all you need are basic ingredients - flour, butter, eggs and Anchor butter - and a few extras, and you have a nutritious, filling meal for the whole family in the time it takes to order a takeaway.

A simple dinner the kids can help with is a family favourite - pepperoni pizza. Bases are easy to make, and what kid doesn't like getting covered in flour and kneading dough? The artist inside them can go wild with the toppings - why not add peppers and a bit of colour? Check the recipe on the Anchor Dairy website and see just how fast this supper can be, and check out the other kids' cooking recipes such as homemade fish fingers and easy spaghetti bolognese. There's even a section for dippy eggs and soldiers - spread the toast soldiers with Anchor butter for a filling breakfast.

Your kids will get even more enthusiastic about baking treats for themselves. From banana bread for an any-time treat, to flapjacks for packed lunches, to Victoria jam sponges for elevenses at weekends, the possibilities are endless! The kids recipe section has lots of simple and cheap recipes for parents and kids to bake and enjoy together.

As an activity for everyone, bake a batch of fairy cakes and leave to cool. Set out different decorations - chocolate icing, strawberry icing, sprinkles, berries, banana chips, sweets and anything else you have to hand, and let each member of the family decorate their own personal cupcake! This is also good when the kids' friends visit - maybe let them decorate an extra one to take home.

The earlier kids learn to cook, the more they will enjoy it and the more skilled and creative they will get. Try Anchor's fun recipes for kids and get your little ones cooking up a storm! 

Who wants some hair in their salad with a side of butt crack?

On Saturday my 8 year old daughter had a birthday party to attend at a local pizza parlor.   My husband is overprotective (okay and so am I), and thought she was too young to simply drop off at the party, so I told him I would stay at the restaurant, but sit in a different section with the two boys so she could have some privacy.  My hubby had a photo job he had to leave for, so he stayed with me long enough to order food for me and the boys and then left.  I'll admit I was feeling a bit panicky when he left and was having flashbacks of my former single mom days when my teens were toddlers and I had no choice but to take them everywhere alone.  My hat is off to you single parents, as it is not an easy job!  The restaurant was packed to the brim and noisy as hell.  The entrance to the indoor playground was no where near where I was sitting and all of the tables with views to the playground were full, so that meant I had to try to keep the boys at the table with me until we were done eating, and then take them out to the playground….alone. Yikes!

This meant that I had to shovel food into my mouth as fast as humanly possible with one hand, while the other hand was extended out around my 2.5 year old's waist trying to keep him from escaping from the booth (he wont sit in highchairs anymore and just climbs right out).  I was almost done with my salad when all of a sudden I saw the one thing that you never ever want to see on your plate…a small, curly, black hair that was slightly pube-like in appearance and definitely NOT mine….BARF!   I immediately put the fork down and vowed to never eat from a salad bar again.  I was seriously repulsed to the thought of vomiting.  However, I suppose hair on the plate is an excellent method to keep you from overeating as I can honestly say that I lost my appetite for the rest of the weekend. 

Since lunch time was definitely over at this point, I took the boys out to the playground.  It was indoors, but they had all of the windows wide open and considering it was only 50 degrees outside, the playground resembled an indoor igloo.   I had an entire hour to kill in the playground before my daughter's party was over, in the freezing cold playground, alone with no one to talk too (none of the other parents were inside the playground but me).   My boys are 4 and 2, but they cannot be trusted alone (if you haven't already gathered that by previous pics of their shenanigans).  

My legs were hurting from standing, my nose was dripping from the cold, my head was pounding and I found myself obsessively checking my phone and praying for the time to pass. The chaos from all the wild, unsupervised kids was too much to bear at times, and the smell was just horrific. You would think with open windows that it wouldn't smell so bad, but when you have dozens of little kids running around with barefeet or socks, all you could smell was the aroma of rotten feet and cheese. I really can't explain the smell, nor do I want too.

Finally some other parents started coming in to check on their kids, but it was mostly dads checking on their kids.  As luck would have it, I had the distinct pleasure of standing behind a man with the largest, hairiest butt crack i've ever seen.  He stood in front of me for about 20-30 minutes and there really wasn't anywhere else for me to go as we were packed into this playground like sardines and I was trying to stand by the ball pit as that seemed to be Peanut's favorite place (and no, I don't even want to know what was inside of that ball pit).  I couldn't resist taking a pic of the butt crack man (and this was taken right after he pulled up his pants. Yep, it was much worse than this): 

Did I really just instagram a man's hairy butt crack?
Oh yes, I did! 

The next morning my almost 5 year old son woke up with a blazing case of pink eye. No doubt from one of the little darlings in the playground.  So how was your weekend? 

I will not scream for ice cream

Parenting is a dirty job. Disciplining your kids is an even dirtier job. Disciplining while driving and operating a vehicle is pure filth, and requires a gold medal of excellence because i'm convinced it's impossible.

Last night I picked up my 8 year old daughter from soccer practice.  Bo's has always been a challenge. I wont go into her background, but she is feisty and headstrong and the touchy feely, getting down to her eye level and calmly explaining stuff like, "We don't yell honey" does not work for her.  For some unknown reason she got it stuck in her head that I was going to buy her ice cream on the way home.  Considering it was 7 pm, we still had to drive across town to pick up her older sister from her practice, and no one had eaten dinner yet, this was never going to happen.  Try explaining that to my daughter.   She screamed and wailed at the top of her lungs, like a two year old.  I didn't have the option to pull over.  I had to get across town to pick up my other daughter.

I did what I like the call the stair steps to failure:

Step number one: I told her to stop.  Explained to her why she wasn't going to get ice cream. I rationalized. Explained we hadn't eaten dinner, blah, blah, blah.  Didn't work at all.

Step number two: I tried screaming at her to stop at the top of my lungs.  All that did was hurt my throat. Bad idea.

Step number three: I was so desperate that I started throwing out the empty threats.  Some of you moms know what i'm talking about here.  The, "If you don't stop screaming, i'm going to pull this car over and you're walking home."  Yeah, she knew I was full of bullshit on that one considering we live in a big city, it's dark, we were miles away from home, and well…it's illegal.  My kids are pretty smart.  They know the laws.

By the time I got home I had listened to her scream for about 15-20 minutes.  My nerves were completely shot, my head was pounding, and I was regretting ever having ovaries.   I gave my hubby a brief description of what had just occurred and he was pretty upset and went in and told her to write sentences. He told her to write, "I will not scream for ice cream" which I find pretty comical. It is sort of  funny, isn't it?

I was skeptical that his punishment was going to work, but at this point I just wanted to run into the bathroom, lock the door, and stay there until the kids turned 18.

A little while later my hubby called me into her bedroom and she was lying on her bed, sound asleep,  with a homemade card lying on her chest:

I'll admit, I cried and secretly thanked my hubby for being a genius.  And then I thanked my ovaries. 

Cat pee cleats

I swear these things only happen at our house and after last night I have to seriously wonder if we're on Candid Camera. The hubby and I were trying to watch TV in the family room, but we were literally gagging on the smell of ammonia.  It smelled like a herd of cats escaped from the crazy, hoarder neighbors next door and marked their territory all over our front room.   Here's the problem though….we don't have a cat!

My husband was convinced that the kids must've let a stray cat into our house while we weren't looking (with our kids I suppose that's slightly possible), and it immediately ran around the front room pissing all over everything to mark their territory, and then the kids snuck it back outside before we discovered it (not very likely if you ask me).

I'll admit I too was intrigued as to why we were gagging on cat pee fumes when we don't even own a cat.  The previous owners of our house did have cats, but we've lived here a while and haven't smelled cat pee except for occasional faint whiffs here or there.  However, this smell was like someone was holding your face down in a bucket of cat urine.  It was up your nostrils, throat burning, I think i'm going to barf because I can taste cat pee on my tongue kind of a smell.  I was sick to my stomach and didn't feel good. My head hurt, the room was spinning a little and my hubby and I were literally on our hands and knees crawling around on the ground smelling everything.  I'll admit….I even smelled myself a couple of times. Hey, it's a stretch, but I was desperate to find the source.

On the ground next to the front door sat two pairs of dirty, gross, soccer cleats.  On Monday, the girls had practice in the pouring rain.  The cleats were wet, and muddy, but we figured they would dry off.  What we didn't realize, is they were also covered in cat pee from the field (I didn't realize soccer fields also doubled as a toilet for the neighborhood cats).  My hubby stuck his nose into my 13 y/o daughter's cleat, and literally jumped about 3 feet back.  Then he yelled out, "OH MY GOD. I found the smell."   I don't know why I couldn't just take his word for it, but of course I had to stick my nose into the cleat as well.  I damn near vomited. It was bad.

I have washed these stupid cleats 3 times now.  I've hosed them down with vinegar, detergent, soap, etc. They still freaking stink!  Even the neighborhood squirrels cleared the yard when I set those puppies out on the back patio last night.  So now the big question is, do I buy new cleats even though soccer season is over in a couple of weeks, or do I hold my breath and tell my girls to suck it up and put on their cat pee cleats?   This is reason number 10, 451 as to why i'm not a soccer mom.  Cat pee cleats! Seriously?!

A candy bar has many meanings

My husband made me promise i'd blog about this today and since I do make fun of him every single chance I get, I kind of owe him one. So this one's for you my hunk of burning love!

Yesterday I went grocery shopping. What a shocker that a mom of five spends three quarters of her adult life going to the grocery store. I'm on a first name basis with most of the employees. Pitiful really, but with two teens we go through food like toilet paper and considering we really were out of toilet paper (and napkins as that's our back up), I had no choice but to go shopping.  My hubby and I have this thing where we always buy each other a candy bar when we're at the store. It's kind of a way to say, "I love you" but also, "I really just want a candy bar for myself, so i'm buying one for you too so I don't have to listen to you bitch while I eat my candy bar in front of you."

Last night was pouring down rain and icky and my girls had soccer practice in the torrential downpour which meant that they came home smelling like wet dogs and asshole. I was so busy giving them baths and fixing dinner at midnight (kidding, it was more like 7), that I totally forgot about my hubby's candy bar that was stuffed down in my purse until the kids were passed out asleep. I walked into the bathroom and handed my hubby his candy bar (yes, while he was on the toilet) Is that wrong? We've been together for so long now that we are totally comfortable enough to hang out with each other while in the bathroom.  I know marriage experts tell you to NEVER EVER do this, but with five kids, this is one of our only options for quality alone time, so we're making it count, dammit! I also believe this is a sign of true love, or perhaps it's just completely repulsive and sick, but either way, it's really not a big deal to us.

This is the conversation that took place after I handed over the candy bar:

J- Oooh, I think someone wants to get some tonight.

Me- NO! (oooops, did I really just say that out loud?)

J- (hysterical laughter) OH I see. So this is the "I don't want to get any tonight so here's a candy bar instead?"

Me- Well, no. Actually it was a "I really just wanted some Junior Mints, and was trying to justify my purchase, but we can go along with your theory."

J- You really should blog about this.

Me- Why would you want me to blog about turning you down for sex? Doesn't that go against every code in the man handbook? You never admit when your wife turns you down?

J- Yeah, but it's pretty damn funny that you tried to buy me off with candy.

Later that evening I was curled up on the couch, wrapped up like a burrito in a warm, fleecy blanket of wonderfulness, when my persistent hubby decides to climb on top of me and dry hump my blanket covered behind.  Do all men do this or am I just the lucky chosen one who gets dry humped on a daily basis? Anyways, I immediately shout out, "Babe, get off! I'm gassy", which was totally true as I really was gassy after dining on spicy turkey dogs and barbeque chips just a couple of hours prior.  J slid off of me onto the floor laughing. "I know, I know" J said. "Let me guess? You are gassy, bloated, constipated, your cooch is most likely bleeding and smells weird, your fibromyalgia is acting up, your legs hurt and are way too hairy because you haven't had time to shave them, and your vagina looks like something straight out of the Jungle Book.  Did I miss anything? Oh and you have a headache. I almost forgot that one."

Homemade play dough using basic ingredients

The weather is changing, the kids can't play outside as much, and that leaves mommy ready to pull out every single remaining strand of hair on her head. Sound familiar?  Well don't worry...i've got a solution! Make some play dough (do-do as my kids call it).  I know you're probably thinking, "No thanks, i'd rather just buy it."  Before you load your kids in the minivan and make a painfully expensive trip to Target, i'm here to tell you that you most likely already have everything you need to make some really awesome play dough right in your own pantry! Besides, store brand play dough sucks.  Don't get me wrong, it's squishy and fun the first few hours, but it quickly dries out and soon becomes a crumbled mess of crap.

This was after just a couple of hours of play: 

I ended up having to toss it and the kids were upset

I promised the kids i'd attempt to make them homemade play dough like my mom used to do for me, but then I began to panic when I realized i'd actually have to pull this off.  I found a basic play dough recipe of my mom's, however, her recipe called for food coloring. I don't ever buy food coloring and I really didn't want to make a Sunday trip to the grocery store when I already had all of the other ingredients in my pantry.  So I started looking online for alternative ingredients for food coloring.  I found tons of recipes that said to use Kool Aid, but we don't buy that either.  However, I did have 2 boxes of flavored gelatin in my pantry and it looks a lot like Kool Aid so I figured "Why not give it a try? What's the worst that can happen?" That's a loaded question in this house...LOL!

I substituted one 3 oz package of cherry gelatin (generic Jello) for the food coloring and it turned out fabulous! The playdough smelled amazing and it had a very similar look to store bought Playdough but without the crumbly mess.  When my mom used to make play dough with food coloring, it was much duller in color, but with the gelatin it's very vibrant.

Ingredients: 

1 cup flour
1 cup warm water
1/3 cup salt
2 teaspoons cream of tartar
2 tablespoons of vegetable oil
1 3oz package of gelatin (generic, store brand will work just fine)
Optional: spices instead of gelatin (will explain later)

Directions: 
Mix all of the ingredients in a large pan.  Cook on medium heat over the stove, stirring until the mixture hardens and becomes difficult to stir. You will know when this happens because your arm will start to hurt and you'll be wishing you just drove to the store and bought the d@mn play dough!  Don't give up though. When your arm starts to hurt when stirring, that probably means it's ready to remove from the heat.  Coat a cutting board with some flour and scoop your playdough out of the pan and onto the flour.  Knead dough in the flour, until the playdough isn't sticky anymore.  Be careful though because the play dough is HOT when you first take it out of the pan.  I burned my hands because I tried to knead the dough right away.  Oh and when your kids are done playing with the play dough for the day, make sure you store it in an airtight container and put it in the fridge.

Tip: If you don't have gelatin at home, you can use spices instead!  Since I only had 2 boxes of gelatin on hand and ended up making 3 batches, for my third batch I actually used 2 tablespoons of paprika.  It turned the play dough a rich, sparkly brown color.   However, the kids weren't very impressed with the strong spicey smell, so I would suggest using a milder spice like cinnamon.  I don't know why I didn't think of cinnamon because i'm sure it would have ended up a similar color and smelled much better.   Seriously play around with what you've got at home as the possibilities are really endless.

You could make some orange play dough for Halloween by using some orange flavored gelatin. I'm planning on making green and red to put in my children's Christmas stockings.  The cinnamon spice would make a wonderful holiday scented play dough. This stuff also makes the perfect gift! You can find cute little inexpensive containers at the Dollar Tree, or cellophane bags and wrap it up all pretty and give it as a gift.   Birthday parties, party favors, stocking stuffers, party activities, etc, it all works.

Warning! 

This activity may be so enticing that your teenager might even appear out of their cave to come play with their younger siblings...GASP! However, they will hide their face when you try to take a picture for your blog.  Oh and you will most likely have to stop your 2 year old from eating it, as Peanut thought it was very tasty. Yes, that's him eating play dough with a fork. 

We're off to see the Wizard…or not!

We searched high and low for a Dorothy costume for my 13 year old daughter to wear to a Halloween costume party this weekend.  While we were out driving to 8 different stores in the pouring rain we discovered some rather disturbing facts about Dorothy….

Dorothy is a bit of a slutty, slut, slut! Yes my friends, Dorothy left Kansas and headed to Portland, where she is enjoying her new career as a stripper.   Her ruby slippers have been traded in for clear stiletto heels and the only tin she's been seeing these days is a metal pole wrapped between her legs.

Unless you plan on going Trick or Treating at the Playboy Mansion, this costume should never be worn….

Or this…...

Seriously?  I don't recall the scarecrow showing off a bare midriff! WTF?!

There really are no words…okay, I can think of a couple.  HELL NO!!!! 

As for the Wizard? 

I'm guessing he's the perverted, pot bellied, "the only sex i'm getting these days is in one of those peep show booths with my right hand" kind of man, who designed these heinous costumes.  Not impressed! It's pretty sad when you have to squeeze your 13 year old daughter into a children's size large costume that's intended for ages 8-10 because it's the only one that doesn't show her breasts and ass cheeks when she bends over!  I'm pretty disgusted and it takes a lot to disgust this momma.  Major fail by the costume designers for the Wiz! Major freaking fail!!! 

I just might need my own cooking show

I love veggies. I seriously can't get enough of them.  I'm the one who picks out the veggies out of the Chinese cartons and leaves the meat.  My husband is the exact opposite. He will pick out the meat and leave piles of veggies on his plate, which I then eat off of his plate.  No need to be wasteful!

However, there is one veggie-licious meal that I cook that he just cannot resist.  My grilled veggie sandwich!  And if my hubby will eat it, then trust me, anyone will eat it!  This is a man who thinks that a salad should consist of only lettuce, cheese and loads of ranch.

This sandwich is so good that if you don't like it, you can punch me in the face.  But you wont punch me in the face because it's that good.

This recipe was inspired by a recipe I found on Allrecipes.com, however, I have changed it quite a bit.  You can find the original recipe here:
http://allrecipes.com/recipe/california-grilled-veggie-sandwich/

Ingredients You Will Need: This recipe serves our family which consists of 2 adults, 2 teens (who eat like adults), an 8 y/o, and 2 toddler boys who just pick at everything.

1 large red pepper
1 large yellow pepper
1-2 avocados
1 container of sliced mushrooms (use fresh mushrooms not the barfy ones in the can…gross)
one bunch of fresh spinach or a bag of spinach would work too
1 container of crumbled blue cheese
1 garlic clove
mayo
lemon juice
ciabatta bread
olive oil

I place my mushrooms and sliced peppers on my George Foreman Grill and drizzle a little olive oil over them and close the lid.  While my veggies are cooking, I mix up the sandwich spread.

There is no exact science to this part.  I take a small cereal bowl and mix up a couple of big spoonfuls of mayo.  Then I squirt in a little lemon juice and add some chopped up garlic.  Mix all 3 ingredients together.  I taste it to see if I need to add more lemon, garlic, mayo etc.    Then spread this mixture all over the top half of your ciabatta bread.  Don't be modest. Spread that shit on good! Sprinkle the crumbled blue cheese all over the mayo mixture and set aside.

When your veggies are grilled to how you like them, remove them off the grill and place the ciabatta bread face up on your grill (the part with the mayo/blue cheese mixture on it).   Close the grill lid onto the bread.  The mayo and cheese mixture will almost immediately soak into the bread.  You don't want to leave the grill closed for very long, just long enough for your blue cheese to melt into the bread and be lightly brown.  I only leave the lid on for a few seconds (definitely less than 30 seconds).

Take your bread off the grill, pile up your veggies into your sandwich, add some fresh spinach leaves, and add some cut up avocados.  Then be prepared to eat the most delicious sandwich you will ever eat in your entire life!  Seriously my picky husband BEGS me to cook this, and even my kids will eat it!  It's a perfect way to get your picky eaters to get their veggies.  Oh and I know you're probably saying, "But I don't like blue cheese".   Seriously, suck it up and try it!  The blue cheese melts into the mayo/lemon/garlic mixture and it's freaking delicious!

Boys

"Hmmm, I wonder how long it would take mommy to climb up to get us?"

Find your inner rockstar

Al Bundy, "I scored four touchdowns in a single game"

"Yes, hello, Pizza Hut? My mom is on a health kick this week, so i'd like to order 

a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese please"

"Here mommy, I know you're allergic, but you have to take this anyways, 

because i'm cute and you did put me in a Hawaiian outfit today"

"Those Disney princesses ain't got nothin on me"

'

Cheerios and a broom

I've had a rough couple of days, knee deep in the pits of mommy hell.  No, my dog didn't die, and my relatives are still alive and kickin (and still crazy), but just the typical, ordinary things that make me want to have an emotional breakdown.  Oh wait, I did!

Let me back up to last night.  Yesterday I had a really bad IC day.  I've posted before about my struggle with Interstitial Cystitis.  I was in a tremendous amount of pain all day long and nothing was helping me feel better.  I tried my usual tricks to try to relieve the pain (hot baths, ice pack on my privates, lots of Advil, etc), but nothing was working.  My husband bought me a jumbo sized box of Junior Mints to try and cheer me up as he knows they are my absolute favorite.  I opened them up after dinner, ate a couple of them and then even handed my boys a few which is pretty damn nice of me considering I don't like to share my Junior Mints with anyone! 

I put the boys to bed and as soon as their eyes were shut and their bodies stopped twitching, I snuck out of bed like a mommy ninja.  I eagerly opened up my top dresser drawer (underwear drawer), and reached for the box with excitement and anticipation only to discover that the box was totally and completely, freaking empty! WTH?!  My dear, sweet, little momma's boys had snuck into my secret, hiding spot and ate every single Junior Mint. Yes, every last one of them.  

I don't know if it was the massive pain I had been feeling, the stress of a chaotic weekend, or what it was, but all of a sudden I began to cry.  Not just any ordinary cry, but deep, wretched sobs, as if Junior Mints had made an announcement that they were going out of business and would no longer be sold. I sobbed so loud that my husband actually felt sorry for me (i'm sure I must've been a pretty pitiful sight, lying on my bed and clutching an empty mint box for dear life).   He got into the car at 9 pm and drove to the store and bought me a brand new jumbo sized box of mints.  It was so sweet of him that I broke out into even more sobs when he returned.  

I woke up this morning hoping that today would be a better day.  I mean it can't get much worse than finding out your sweet little momma's boys ultimately betrayed you, right?  Yeah not so fast momma! 

Shortly after my dear hubby left for work, this is what I walked into: 

In just the short time it took me to upload this photo onto the computer, my two boys apparently decided that it would be more fun to toss the Cheerios all around the room.  I have never seen so many Cheerios in my entire life!  They were EVERYWHERE!  I was too distraught to take a picture, but they were under the couch, under the table, on the table, on the couch, under the bookshelf, etc. It was a Cheerio explosion. 

I'm vacuuming like a maniac when all of a sudden my foot really starts to hurt.  I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but considering I just admitted that I sobbed over an empty mint box, I guess this pales in comparison.  Early this morning I pretended I was a world famous ballerina.  I was dancing around on our hard wood floors and leaping into the air like I was auditioning for the Nutcracker.  When you are so out of shape that the only exercise you've gotten in the last few months is walking to the mailbox, it's probably best that you leave the dancing to the professionals. I tore a bunch of important stuff in my foot.  I don't know what I tore, but holy cow my foot hurts A LOT! This is also the same foot that I broke my toe on just a few weeks ago.  A toe that refuses to heal because a certain toddler who will remain nameless, likes to jump on it with shoes on. 

So, i'm limping around the playroom, vacuuming never ending mounds of Cheerios all over the floor with a gimpy foot, when the vacuum suddenly shuts off.  I thought that maybe the boys unplugged it, but nope, it was still plugged in.  I twisted the container off and it took it to the garbage can to empty it out.  Dust, hair, and several months worth of nasty funk flew all over the kitchen, as well as all over my shirt.  F@ck my life.  I managed to clean up that mess, when Peanut had gone back into the playroom and emptied out all the games and DVD's off the shelf.  I was not amused by this point.   

I re-plugged the vacuum into another outlet and the damn thing STILL wouldn't turn on.  The vacuum was dead.  By this point I had one option.  I moved the couch into a different spot to cover up some of the Cheerios but there still quite a few scattered all over the carpet.  I grabbed a broom and started sweeping Cheerios off of the carpet, which isn't easy.  My gimpy foot was throbbing, Peanut had moved on to another room of the house to destroy and I started to really hate my dear sweet hubby for getting an escape from this house of horrors.  

As I began to type this, Peanut came running over to me and said, "Mommy Mawney stuck".  Mawney is not his name, but that's what he calls him because he has a very unique and difficult name to pronounce.   

So, I head outside and this is what I see: 

My kid with his foot stuck in a pile of chopped down tree branches.  And no I didn't tell him to make this face. He did that completely on his own because he's awesome and hilarious and takes after yours truly.  Don't worry mommy saved the day!  I pulled his foot out of the branches and it didn't even require any special tools or emergency calls to the fire department.  Perhaps my day is slowly turning around for the better! 

What's the opposite of a hoarder? My husband!

I know, I know. Two husband bashing posts back to back, but freaking A the man makes it way too easy to pick on him!

My husband grew up in an extremely neat and tidy home.  My mother was similar, but didn't quite possess the same level of OCDness as his parents. We briefly lived with his mom for about a year shortly after we were married and let's just say I have never met anyone that organized in my entire life. We had labels on every item in the house.  I'm seriously surprised there wasn't a label for our toilet. Our pantry items were stacked up just like in the movie "Sleeping with the Enemy" with Julia Roberts when she comes home and finds her canned goods lined up in the cupboard and realizes her crazy ex-husband was in her home.  Yeah, just like that.  Our pantry was so ridiculously organized that my hubby and I would mess it up just for fun (I really hope my mother in law isn't reading this right now because she's probably breathing into a paper bag, lol).  Even my sister in law would join in when she would come to visit.  We would shuffle items around and turn labels backwards.  We stacked the corn and beans together (GASP) and put the peanut butter on a different shelf. These were all big no-no's.  I swear my mother in law had a little internal voice that would notify her when something had gone awry because she would make a beeline right for the pantry and the items would quickly be returned to their original location.

She also didn't like the way I loaded the dishwasher as i'm the type to just rinse off the dishes and wherever they land in the dishwasher is good enough for me. Sure I have to shuffle things around from time to time to make room, but I never realized that loading the dishwasher had an exact science to it.  To my mother in law, there was definitely a right and wrong way, and she even (nicely) said, "Why don't you just let me load the dishwasher from now on dear?"  Well, let's just say that some of these behaviors have spilled over onto my hubby, and again that's not necessarily a bad thing, just kind of irritating at times.

I like to say that my husband is the opposite of a hoarder, which again, not a bad thing. I mean you've all seen the show Hoarders right?  By far the scariest, most disturbing show on television. How people can sleep on top of a mattress soaked in cat urine and dog turds is beyond me….ick!  I get so anxious whenever I watch it, that a mere 5 minutes into the show i'm racing around my house like a madwoman cleaning (my hubby can't even watch the show).  If you ever need motivation to clean your house, turn on Hoarders and you will find yourself wanting to scrub every surface of your home.  His cleanliness and neatness isn't what bothers me (okay, he does cause some major eye rolling when he's frantically scrubbing the floors on his hands and knees and mumbling under his breath that none of us know how to clean properly). What really drives me bonkers is his frequent urge to purge.  His anti-hoarding ways have cost us a lot of money over the years.

Example #1: Toy Story 

My 15 y/o son was a Toy Story obsessed maniac.  He had tons of seriously awesome Toy Story merchandise from the first two movies. When we downsized homes in 2008, we didn't have Peanut yet. Our almost 5 y/o son was just a baby and our older kids had outgrown Toy Story.  Me, being the sentimental type didn't think it was a wise idea to get rid of the Toy Story stuff. Hello, it's a classic!  Well Mr. Urge to Purge insisted that it all needed to go, so he packed up several large boxes of toys (some vintage and collectible at this point) and dropped them off at the nearest Goodwill (no, he didn't even try to Ebay or Craigslist them).

Just one short year later, guess who became totally, 100% Toy Story obsessed?  Our toddler son. I told him so. We ended up spending a lot of money to buy him new Toy Story merchandise, that sadly isn't even nearly as awesome as the older stuff that we used to own.  I've checked Ebay for some of the items that we used to own and they sell for a small fortune.  It seriously turns my stomach thinking about all the extra money we could've made off of some of our classic toys.

I know we had one like this: 

Picture found online

Example #2: Blue's Clues

My 15 y/o son was also a Blue's Clues maniac.  This was years ago when the show was at it's peak of popularity as it was a new show at the time.  My ex and I bought this cute little house at Target for him when he was about 2 years old and I know we paid under $20 for it.

Picture found online

Guess who tossed it after I met him and we moved into our first place together? Yep, Mr. Urge to Purge.  Then guess who became totally, 100% Blues Clues crazy just a couple of years later when we had our first child together? Yep, the two of us birthed a Blue's Clues fanatic.  She was so Blue's Clues obsessed that it ended up being her party theme for her 2nd birthday.  By this time Blue's Clues merchandise was no longer sold in stores so I spent many hours scouring for toys on Ebay. I ended up finding the exact same house with all the figurines and paid $45 for the same, exact house that we owned just free and clear a couple of years prior.  I'm still pretty bitter over the whole thing. And even though my younger boys are not really fans of Blue's Clues. I refuse to get rid of the damn thing. I'm convinced that if I get rid of it, I will have a grandchild that will be the biggest Blue's Clues fan in the world and I will have to kick Mr. Urge to Purge in the shins for convincing me to toss it. We're keeping the damn house until the day we die!

Example #3: VHS tapes

We had quite the extensive collection of VHS movies.  I'm too embarrassed to give a ballpark number on how many we owned as it was a lot. One of the movies that my husband took to the Goodwill was this one:

Picture found on Amazon

I told him not to take this movie, along with several others that are older movies and now very hard to find.  He didn't listen. Well guess who is now completely, 100% Chipmunk obsessed and is crying because he wants to rent "The Chipmunk Adventure" and it's no longer sold in stores?  Our almost 5 y/o son, that's who.  I looked online for the DVD version and it's being sold for an obscene amount of money.  There's no way in HE-double hockey sticks that i'm spending $75 for it! Luckily the VHS version is much more reasonable, and yes we still own one remaining, working VCR at this point, but it still pisses me off that i'm going to fork over another $10-20 for a VHS movie that we owned just one short year ago!  GAH!

These are just three small examples.  I could go on and on (and on) with many other similar examples.  I really do love Mr. Urge to Purge, despite my complaining.  I'm actually a little surprised that he hasn't tried to drop my crazy ass off at the Goodwill yet.  

The things we do for love

My husband J loves MMA (mixed martial arts).  I have attended two live Strikeforce events in Portland with my husband.  Two, but who's counting? I'll admit during these fights I was bored to tears, but my husband did go to both Sex and the City movies with me (in the theater), so I kind of owed him.  During these fighting events we were so close to the cage that J would get up out of his seat and walk around the cage so he could get glimpses of his fighting idols.  I stayed in my seat, alone, and did I mention bored? There aren't many females at these events so I was mostly sandwiched in between a bunch of sweaty, unruly men who reeked like beer. Had they been shirtless firemen I may not have minded so much.  During the last fight we attended, one of these drunk men even kicked over his beer that was under his chair and those of us sitting behind him had a 1-2 inch beer puddle under our feet.  I'm not a beer drinker so I was less than impressed.  Had it been a margarita puddle, I wouldn't have complained.

When J heard that the UFC was coming to Seattle this winter, he lit up like a Christmas tree.  He has been talking non stop about this fight for weeks.  Unfortunately I wont be attending this one (oh darn), because Seattle is too far of a drive from Portland, without needing to hire babysitters and all that hassle.  Plus UFC tickets are much more expensive than other fighting events, as they are very popular and sell out huge arenas.

Last night J casually tells me, "Oh yeah. Tomorrow at 10 am sharp you will have to buy my UFC ticket."  You're probably reading this and thinking, "So, what's the big deal? Buy the man a ticket!"  I used to think the same thing as you, until I married the pickiest man in the entire world.  He is very specific about which rows/sections he will sit in during certain events, and which ones he wont.  I could feel the pressure mounting on me already.  With my hubby, nothing is simple.  Usually I wont even be in the same room as J while he's attempting to buy tickets for important events.  J is also a huge Depeche Mode fan and the last time they came to Seattle, I thought we were going to end up divorced by the end of the ticket buying process.  The computer froze, and then he couldn't remember his Ticketmaster account password, and the entire time he's panicking that the tickets were going to sell out in seconds.  They didn't.  The arena was half empty on the night of the concert.

So before he left for work this morning he logged into his Ticketmaster account and had everything all ready for me to buy his ticket at 10 am.  "Make sure you are ready to hit submit at 10 am SHARP" J reminded me as he walked out the door.   "Okay" I replied as I was in the middle of changing a diaper, answering a Tweet, and juggling knives with my free hand.

At some point while answering an email I got that sick to my stomach feeling.  I forgot to buy his ticket!  I frantically grabbed my cell phone to check the time (our time is not set on our computer thanks to Peanut resetting everything).  It was 10:10.  My hubby would be having a cow if he knew I let 10 precious minutes slip away!  I searched for the "purchase ticket" option and couldn't figure out how to buy a ticket.  The website was frozen and needed to be refreshed.  I hit refresh, selected one ticket, only to get a captcha. Really? Why don't they just say, "Sorry, we're going to make your ticket buying experience as difficult as possible".  After typing in 3 different captchas, I finally got the right one.  I would love to find the creator of captcha and punch them in the face, and then say, "See, i'm not a robot!"

The first seat it gave me was actually in one of the 3 sections that J approved of and it wasn't a horrible seat.  I started to pat myself on the back for not totally screwing up, when all of a sudden a really bad idea popped into my head…"What if I opened a new window and checked to see if an even better seat pops up?" I know you're reading this and screaming, "Don't do it!" but that's exactly what I did.  The next available seat that came up was not in his approved section, and it was also not a very good seat.  It was obvious I needed to buy the original ticket so I clicked back to the other screen and got an error message.  Not good at all.  I had to close down the entire site and go back in. I was starting to think of possible excuses in my head that I could give to my  husband as to why I wasn't able to buy him a ticket as it was getting close to 10:20.  I kept trying to enter in the stinking captcha with every try as quickly as possible.

 Then entered Peanut. Now not only was I trying to enter in an impossible to read captcha, but I had a little foot pressing on my chin, a furry toddler head smacking me against the boob, tiny little hands with sharp fingernails that needed to be trimmed trying to pry my hands off the keyboard, and all kinds of crazy going on around me.  "Peanut DOWN" I scream.  You would think I was speaking to a dog, but nope, just a 2 year old!  I'm scanning the desk for something, ANYTHING to give him to keep him happy and quiet so I can buy this stupid ticket.  Out of the corner of my eye I catch my 4.5 year old grabbing my soda and taking a sip out of it (we don't allow our kids to drink soda) but at this point I don't even care.  Ever notice when mom is busy, kids suddenly start acting like Satan?  You find yourself giving your child things that you don't even realize you're giving them to keep them busy and then you're like, "Wait, did I really just give my 2 year old a purple Sharpie?" Yikes!

After 3-4 more tries, and lots of yelling at my computer, and getting kicked in the face by Peanut multiple times, I finally bought his ticket. It wasn't as good of a seat as the first ticket, but I wasn't about to try again in fear that tickets would be sold out in the sections that he wanted.  After buying the ticket, I went back to Ticketmaster and searched for another ticket, just to reassure myself that I got him the best available seat in the sections he wanted.  A handful of much better seats popped up in the sections he wanted. I'm assuming these tickets were held up by the captcha monster and then released after people gave up or punched a hole through their monitors.  This information will not be getting passed along to the husband.  

Cleava Review AND Giveaway

I was recently presented with an opportunity to review a product called the Cleava.  Any product that can help cover up my poor, sagging cleavage is a friend of mine.  As a mom to five kids who's breasts have seen better days, I want to keep them as covered up as possible, but without having to wear restrictive, stuffy, "granny" clothes.

The Cleava is a snap to bra camisole which eliminates the need to wear a tank top or undershirt.  I'm personally not a fan of wearing tank tops underneath my clothing, as they are tight and itchy and tend to  twist up at the bottom. Plus breastfeeding while wearing both a bra and a tank top is darn near impossible!  Breastfeeding with the Cleava is super easy! You just push the fabric to the side which is very discreet and convenient.

When I first opened up the package i'll admit I giggled a little.  The first thing that popped into my head was the Thong Song by Sisqo.

See what I mean?
Now try and tell me you don't have the Thong Song running through your head! 

When I flipped the Cleava over there were several snaps which made me break into a cold sweat. I'm not good with lots of buttons or snaps so I started to panic that I wouldn't be able to fasten the Cleava, but don't worry, it's ridiculously easy! If I could do it without fumbling, then so can you. The multi snaps are just to adjust the fit, as the Cleava will fit most.  Play around with the different settings. At first I felt like the Cleava was a little baggy at the bottom, but I just didn't have it tight enough. Once I moved up to the higher snap, it was fine.  Oh and it also comes with an instructional card with pictures that show you how to fasten the Cleva to your bra.  I found this extremely helpful as i'm a visual learner and the picture card seriously helped me a lot!

This is how you attach the Cleava. It's honestly a breeze! 

Here I am modeling the Cleava: 

I think i'm doing a pretty darn good job rocking it until…..

My hubby starts laughing hysterically at me for taking my modeling job way too seriously…

Out take number 200: This is what happens when you ask a humor blogger to review your product! Uncontrollable fits of laughter as it's not easy to be serious. 

Okay, I got myself back under control again…Phew!!! 

So the bottom line is the Cleava is a pretty neat little product. The holiday season is rapidly approaching so you may want to consider it as a gift option (for yourself and others). The Cleava comes in many different colors, and even in a lace pattern. I was sent a basic white Cleava to review.

You can order your Cleava online here for $19.95, however, Michelle DeSousa, the inventor of Cleava is so confident that you're going to love this product that she is offering FREE SHIPPING on any orders over $50.00.  That's a great deal so take advantage of it while you can!

 Please use this code at checkout: FSPL  Offer expires 11/2/2012

 If you are still debating about whether or not to place an order remember that you also have the 30 Day Guarantee. If for any reason you are not happy with the Cleava you can return it within 30 days.  Click here to order or call 1-888-692-5328.

Enter to WIN your Cleava here! 

  a Rafflecopter giveaway
Disclosure: I was not compensated financially for this review. I was sent a sample product to keep for review purposes. The opinions expressed in this review are based on my own experiences. Your experience may differ. This giveaway is in no way affiliated with Facebook or Twitter. No purchase necessary. Void where prohibited. The winner will be notified via email at the end of the giveaway and will have 48 hours to claim their prize (or another winner will be selected).  The giveaway winner's information will be sent to the sponsor and the prize will be sent directly to the winner by the sponsor. Life On Peanut Layne is not responsible for the delivery of the prize.