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Thank You! But No ‘Thank You’

This week I have made some good progress in distributing five of the remaining ten thank you cards that my daughter wrote for her birthday gifts….in July….2014…..almost 10 months ago.

I wish I could blame my daughter, but I can’t. See, we made this great rule for her birthday this year: She couldn’t open her next present until she had written a Thank You card for the last one she opened. She was done with her cards the day of her party, yet, as of April 2015, over half of them still remain undelivered (even to friends who live two doors down and that we see almost every day.)
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I’m Going to Be in a Book! Martinis & Motherhood – Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?!

A couple of weeks ago I received the exciting news that one of my stories was selected to be included in the upcoming anthology, Martinis & Motherhood – Tales of Wonder, Woe & WTF?! which is being published in June by Shannon Day (Martinis & Motherhood) and Tara Wilson (Don’t Lick the Deck) of Tipsy Squirrel Press.
martinis motherhood cover

I’m so excited and honored to have my story included along with 35 other talented authors sharing their stories of the Wonder, Woe & WTF moments of motherhood (and of course, martini recipes.) Read more about the book here.
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Our Bathroom Remodel Episode 8 I'm a Knob Snob

Bathroom Remodel – Episode 8 – I’m a Knob Snob

MARCH 26 – I’M A KNOB SNOB

I buy cheap wine, most of my kids’ toys (and clothes) are purchased off of our neighborhood Facebook Garage Sale page and I usually go with ‘cost efficient’ over ‘luxury’.

So why would I spend my whole morning driving the equivalent of a trip to San Antonio to spend 3x as much money for cabinet knobs at Restoration Hardware (a store I usually avoid at all costs) instead of my beloved Lowes?

Because I’m a knob snob.
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My Carbon Monoxide Detector is Trying to Kill Me - TheDustyParachute.com

My Carbon Monoxide Detector is Trying to Kill Me

I like to think that I’m a ‘glass half full’ kind of girl and typically focus on the good in life. But at least once a day I encounter a product that is so poorly designed that I want to take it out to a field and destroy it “Office Space” style.

I’m sure you’ve been there too. You know, the blow dryer that has a button that turns it off when you were just trying to turn up the heat?  Or the shower knob at the hotel that takes two intelligent adults at least three tries each to figure out how to turn it on?

Is it you?  Are you crazy?
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Why I Don’t Put Pictures of My Kids on My Blog

I often get asked why I don’t post picture of my kids in my blog posts or on social media for The Dusty Parachute.

It’s hard not to.  They are both adorable and do insanely cute and crazy things about 10 time each hour.  So why not share this cuteness with the world?

There are several reasons, but the biggest reason is that about two years ago, when my daughter was 7, she walked up behind me as I was posting a picture of her on Facebook and asked “Why is that picture of me on the computer?  Shouldn’t I get to decide what happens to my pictures?”

I was floored.  She was right.
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Shut the F*ck Up – A Poem for Clueless Parents

The other day I was at a restaurant with my kids and couldn’t help but overhear some moms at the next table carrying on about a friend (who was not present) who had apparently made some pretty interesting decisions in her life recently.

All of the friends were wide eyed, on the edge of their seats waiting for the next juicy detail. You know who else was listening to every word of her thorough news report (besides me)? The woman’s six year old daughter who was waiting for her to shut up for one second to she could get an escort to the bathroom.
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Top 14 Reasons Preschool Boys are Like Drunk Old Men

When my daughter (now nine) was around four or five years old, every once in a while she would enter a special kind of state of mind that we fondly referred to as “drunk college roommate.”

99% of the time “drunk college roommate” showed up at bedtime, primarily when it was time to put pajamas on. It would start innocently enough with her telling a little silly joke and then proceeding to laugh so hard that she could fall down, in various stages of pajama undress. Then she would attempt to stand up and steady herself and get all serious, stare deep into my eyes and while patting down both sides of my hair with her tiny hands say things like, “Momma…you’re sooooo pretty.” (All of this, of course, with only one leg of her pajamas on.)
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