Happy Monday Friends!!!

I think Monday is gonna be my blog day.  It’s perfect because Mondays usually consist of me sitting around, staring at my messy house, repeatedly saying, “Alright Tiff, refresh Facebook ONE more time, then if there’s nothing new, get up and clean”.  Before I know it, my husbands’ walking in the door from work wondering WTF I’ve been doing all day. So if I pump one of these bad boys out, I can say I accomplished something.

Anyway, if you follow my YouTube Channel (which you don’t, because I have zero subscribers, so, thanks for that) then you will see that I already covered some of this on my last video. But the video is 8 mins 30 seconds, so if you don’t have 10 mins to spend watching me be weird on camera, I’ll recap.

You know how in high school, someone would invite you to a party, and you knew that the cooler, more mature kids would be there.  So you’d get dressed and stand in the mirror, giving yourself a pep talk like, “alright, this is it.  We are going, we’re doing this.  We gotta impress these people. Play it cool, just blend in…..don’t be weird.”

This is exactly how I feel……every time I walk to pick Aubrey up from her class after school.

It starts on the Sidewalk of Shame. I refer to it as the Sidewalk of Shame, because this sidewalk runs parallel to Webber Street.  Between the hours of 2:45-3:15, a parade of parents can be seen traveling by foot to pick up their offspring.  Therefore, if your destination takes you down said street at said time, you have a front row seat to a runway show of Moms and Dads modeling the latest trends in the parent fashion world.

This really sucks for me, seeing as how my outfit of choice usually consists of the same shorts I wore yesterday, a hideous bun thrown hurriedly atop my makeupless head, and my husbands work shirts which are usually covered in paint and other miscellaneous man dirt.

Last week, the universe aligned and placed my path, directly behind them. We will call them Becki, Lexi & Skipper…


They are a trio of moms/milfs/supermodels, who really have their s*** together. I initially observed their hair. Becki had fresh highlights, Lexi had waist length straight red hair (think Jessica Rabbit) and Skipper had gorgeous flowy curls.

They each had tank tops on that displayed their beautifully tan, toned arms. Becky had a pair of cut off short shorts ( a little too much leg in my opinion…..could be the jealousy talking I’m not sure ). Lexi had a cute skirt with crazy patterns on it that flowed in the wind, doing its own beautiful dance around her perfectly petite body. But SKIPPER, Skippers pants really made my blood boil, and here’s why…..

Skipper had on a pair of leggings (cool) I’m assuming, judging by the 342 Facebook groups I’ve been invited to that these must be of the Lula Roe variety (they are all the rage and I’m pretty sure they feel like buttah, a sensation I will never experience because I’m broke), they had little ghosts on em, just, ghosts floating up and down her leg.  Here’s the thing…..

I specifically recall, in 7th grade, I made the bold attempt to wear spandex pants with ghosts on em and everyone called me a loser weirdo.  Skipper slips em on, and suddenly she has grown women chasing her down the street throwing money at her shouting something about a unicorn and trying to buy the pants right off her f***ing legs.

Life doesn’t make sense anymore.

Anyway, Lexi is pushing this $29329 stroller down the street, her perfectly clean, well dressed child licking an organic, soy free, gluten free lollipop waving to strangers, meanwhile I’m hobbling behind her with my umbrella stroller, trying to keep it on the sidewalk because the wheel is broken so it shakes uncontrollably. My baby still in her pajamas from the night before, because I didn’t have time to put a cute outfit on her for our one, singular outing of the day.Her tiny hand grasping a leaf I picked up off the ground to keep her occupied during her bumpy journey.

They are talking and laughing about how splendid it was to see the look on their kids faces as they brought all the cookie dough from the fundraiser back to the customers in the neighborhood.

My heart dropped upon hearing their conversation.

I remember the selling of the items (thanks to her awesome grandma who got some of her friends to buy stuff), I remember turning in the forms and money. I do not however remember gleefully passing out the goods to their rightful owners.

This is because we didn’t.  We didn’t do that. Nope, we sure didn’t.

Some idiot forgot to pick that s*** up. Now, I’m not gonna name names here, but let’s just say…..ok no, ya it was me. I didn’t, I didn’t pick it up…..

Now that I was thinking about it, I did remember there was a pickup date, I also remember a line at the bottom saying “any items not picked up will be considered a donation.”

Ha…haha…….hahahahahahha……….*laughter turns to tears of sadness…

I began internally panicking. You had ONE job Tiffany. This was your first opportunity to step up and be a kicka** mom. Now you gotta go friggin door to door and hand over pennies and nickels from your change jar to people expecting delicious cookie dough.

I started thinking about how I was gonna tell Aubrey, I imagined it going something like this: “Aubrey! Guess what honey! The uh, school called, and, ha, this is gonna sound crazy but, I GUESS mice got into the cookie dough box and…you’ll never believe this but, they ate ALL the cookie dough! But this is good news, because we get to go on a treasure hunt around the house to gather all the change we can find! Yeah, and then we get to hand it to the neighbors yell “Sorry!” and run as fast as we can back home it will be so fun!”

When she got into the car I asked if she had any homework. She said yes and mentioned how it was really important that we return her library book the following day, seeing as how we had forgotten to bring it with us today.

I took this opportunity to lecture her about the importance of being responsible.

I decided maybe this wasn’t the time to have the cookie dough talk with her….

The next day I marched into the school.  I had been up all night preparing my “I’m not f***ing buying 18 houses worth of cookie dough” speech. The woman at the front desk seemed really sweet, so I decided to change my approach to the innocent, doe-eyed, disheveled ignorantly busy mom.  I am pretty sure I even cried a little, for dramatic effect. I really had to sell this to her, because the last thing I need is a mugshot in the Gotcha with a charge of grand larceny, cookie dough theft.

I explained my predicament through nervous laughter and a look of apparent disappointment plastered on my face. I finally finished verbally spewing pitiful excuses in her general direction and waited in suspenseful anticipation for her reply.

“You still have 3 weeks……So…”


When I feel embarrassed I get really akward. I get loud and over explain things. So I started laughing at the top of my lungs and yelling about how foolish I felt and how grateful I was for her and how beautiful she was then I left.

So all is well, everything is cool. So, now I just need to figure out how to explain the missing cookie dough from Mrs. Millers box when we go to drop it off.


It wasn’t me, at midnight, watching the Walking Dead and binge snacking.

Friggin mice.