Tag Archives: Do These Pants Make My Butt Look Big?

Oh. My. God. Becky, Look at Her Butt….

Scout looks absolutely nothing like me. She might have my hair, but Kiefer’s hair is darkish, too, so it’s hard to tell.

If I hadn’t been in labor with her for nearly 30 hours, I might question that she was actually my child.

But the other day, this happened:


And it reminded me of this:


Look familiar? Are you looking at my butt? Because that’s not what I meant. Scout’s wearing a diaper, so you can’t really compare our butts.

We both love giant beanbags!

You’re still looking at my butt, aren’t you?


Sometimes Baby Showers Surprise You

My baby shower was a couple weeks ago. I was torn. Baby showers have cupcakes, and I wanted cupcakes.

But baby showers also have games, and I didn’t want to play any games. No tasting baby food, no guessing which candy bar is meltily smeared in each diaper (Dear Lord, why would anyone waste a candy bar like that?), and no baby bingo.

Know how to avoid games at a baby shower?

Make it man-friendly. Nobody expects guys to diaper balloons or pin the pacifier on the baby.

However, I did allow a few baby-related decorations, like diaper pins on the cupcakes and rubber duckies in the punch.

My rubber ducky punch was supposed to look like this.

Instead, the rubber ducky punch looked like this:

Rubber Ducky Punch Fail.

Rubber Ducky Punch Fail.

At least it still tasted good.

I was also hoping to avoid opening presents in front of everyone. I didn’t want that much attention, and nobody wants to sit through presents of wipes and butt paste.

Then a couple friends asked me to open their presents so they could explain them. So I quickly opened theirs, thanked them, and then looked up to see a crowd gathering.


So I opened more presents. With the sun beating down on my back and eyes on my tummy, I started perspiring. Misty and Hippie will tell you it was a pregnancy glow because they’re nice. It was sweat.

That’s when I began wondering if it would be rude to spill water all over my lap, yell “My water broke,” and leave my own shower.

Then I got this:


All Mommy Wanted Was a Back Rub

And everyone laughed. And I felt like a jerk. Sure I didn’t want everyone staring at me, but people got me some really cool gifts, and I’m glad that everyone else got to see them…even if they were displayed by a perspiring glowing—just go with it—me.

baby stuff

Mommy’s Little Zombie Hunter, Does This Diaper Make My Butt Look Big?, and The Babe With the Power

How To Fluff Your LoveSac

For Blarney’s dog Murphy…. RIP. I miss you. You were the best stick-fetchin’, LoveSac fluffin’  little guy.

LoveSacs are the best, most comfy pieces of furniture ever. Ev-er. But they’re lazy, so it’s up to you to keep them fluffy and in shape.

Lazy sac of…

To fluff your LoveSac, follow these simple instructions.

Step 1. Charge the LoveSac while screaming, “I’m gonna get you!” Maybe give a little roar or turn green Incredible Hulk style.

Step 2. Then change your strategy. Hug it. Everything needs hugs. Even inanimate objects. Baby talk helps: “You cute, wittle LoveySacky, come here, bring it in.”

Ewww…look at my hand. Is that webbing between my fingers?

Step 3. Back away from the LoveSac slowly so you don’t startle it. If you startle it, it may squish you.

Nice and slow.

Step 4. Change your tactic again. This keeps the LoveSac on its toes. Wipe that smile off your face. Crack your knuckles or maybe flex your guns. Anything intimidating.

Not being intimidating leads to squishing:

Murphy Dog, call 911!

Step 5. Get a running start and fling yourself on top of the LoveSac.

Enlist help if necessary. Murphy Dog works for minimum wage.

Your butt will probably get a little dirty as shown here. Do these pants make my butt look big?

Step 6. Faceplant.

Repeat all six steps as many times as necessary.

Caution! Be sure that all pets (and small children) are clear of the LoveSac, or the faceplant step may occur earlier than planned.

Jumping onto the LoveSac while Esme a small animal is resting causes the pet to launch.

And then Kiefer you have to go stand in the corner.

How To Buy a Swimsuit…Or Get Felt Up

Every time I travel I forget something. 99% of the time it’s my hairbrush. But on my Fort Lauderdale trip, I forgot a swimsuit.

So there I was…at the beach…without a swimsuit. Fail.

So I decided to buy a tankini. I picked out two tops.

Russian Clerk: This one’s too young for you.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Did she just call me old?

Russian Clerk: But this one…It’s nice. What size are you? Small?

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Now she’s just trying to make up for calling me old.

Thoughtsy: Bwahaha! Uh…no. I have broad shoulders. At least a medium. Maybe a large.

Russian Clerk: The small should fit. You like this bottom? What size do you need? Turn around, and let me see.

Thoughtsy: Uh…. ::hesistantly spins so she can check out my butt::

Russian Clerk: Maybe a medium.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Soooooo…I’m old…with small boobs and a fat butt. Great. 

In the dressing room, I try on the top and one of the dozen bottoms she gave me. Once I’m ready, she opens the curtain.

Russian Clerk: Can I adjust and show you how to wear this swimsuit?

Thoughtsy: Suuuuure….

Let me fill you in on a secret. “Adjusting” is code for the clerk shoving her hand into the front of the swimsuit and fondling your boobs until they’re in the right position.


Later…when the clerk rung me up…

Russian Clerk: That’ll be $120.

Thoughtsy: What?! I don’t want to spend that much. Let me get a cheaper bottom.

Russian Clerk: The bottom is $59, and the top is $59…but I guess I could give you $20 off the bottom.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: Yes, let’s do that. Since I did let you touch my boobs.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “When I look at the margarita picture, I see normal-sized margaritas and tiny, tiny hands.”—Laura

Don’t Be So Dramatic

Kiefer says I have a problem, possibly a disease. He’s not sure how to classify it, but it appears to be a little of these:

  • Hearing
  • Memory
  • Interpretation
  • Exagerration.

For example, I’ll be sitting on Kiefer’s lap, and then this happens:

Kiefer: Stand up. I need to get something.

Thoughtsy: I can’t believe you just called me “fat.”

Kiefer: What? I did not!

Thoughtsy: You just said I was so fat that I was cutting off circulation, and I needed to get up, so you could call 911 before your legs were permanently damaged.

Sometimes, it’s more like this:

Kiefer: Get off my lap. I need to get up.

Thoughtsy: You hate me.

Kiefer: What? No!

Thoughtsy: You said I had to get up because you couldn’t stand to be near me one second longer. That I was sucking the life out of you by touching you. And now you’re moving to Canada to get away from me.

It appears that whatever disease I have, it’s contagious. Because the other day, this happened:

Thoughtsy: I’ll be right back.

Kiefer: You hate me.

Thoughtsy: What?

Kiefer: You just said my lap is totally uncomfortable to sit on, and you have to go get a pillow before your ass is permanently damaged.

Thoughtsy: Wait…What’s wrong with my ass? Did you just say my ass is fat?

Kiefer: What? No!

He almost had me. Almost.

Favorite Comment From the Last Post: “Woah! Woah! Why have I never tried these Pop-Tarts? My life is incomplete.”—Ginny