Category Archives: Humor

I Miss Sleep

I’ve been awake since 4:45 a.m.

Not because I set my alarm to witness some fantastic cosmic phenomenon. Or because I was so excited about Tuesday that I sprang from my bed like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Or even because I was so well-rested that my body decided that 4:45 seemed like a great time to wake up for the day.

Nay, friends. I’ve been awake since 4:45 because the Adorable Toddler thought it was time to drink precisely 2.7 ounces of milk and watch strange people open toys on YouTube. (Seriously, you guys. He watches this video on LOOP.)

I am what they call a “mombie.”

Forget about brains. I need a pumpkin spice latte, stat.

See, here’s the problem. We co-sleep. Now, before you go throwing your “How To Raise Your Child The Right Way” books at my face, I will staunchly stand up for my right to co-sleep with my child. At least, I will do so as long as it is safe and working for our family. And I’m starting to think it isn’t. You see, when he was teeny tiny, all he wanted was a snuggle buddy. A hand in my hair, the warmth of my body, and he would sleep happily through the night. However, lately, we’ve been experiencing 3 specific occurrences with our once-snuggly kid. Let me break it down for you like this:

#1: The Triple Lutz

This is when the Adorable Toddler, who is sleeping soundly, decides to corkscrew himself from one side of the bed to the other, taking covers, Mommy’s hair, and whatever else he can manage with him.

#2: The “Slap You Silly”

Bear in mind that this occurs while he is in a full, deep sleep. An errant elbow while he’s turning over, a hand in the face when he’s reaching for a handful of my hair, a swift kick to the throat when he begins to execute #1. I’m happy to report that there hasn’t been bloodshed….yet.

And finally, my favorite:

#3: The “Pull Your Hair, Pinch Your Nose, Pluck Your Ear” Phenomenon

Again, this happens completely in his sleep. He has no idea that his finger is up my nose or that his foot is on my forehead until I gently move him back to a more comfortable space for me. At this point, he wakes up with a wounded look on his face because I deigned to interrupt his slumber.


And so, with co-sleeping no longer being the most restful method in our home any more, methinks it may be time to transfer the Adorable Toddler to his own very comfortable, very expensive bed. I no longer sleep as much as I defend myself from the oncoming onslaught of limbs. In fact, I’m nursing a pulled hamstring. From co-sleeping. That’s, like, a serious athletic injury. However, no matter how long it takes me to limp through my day, something tells me that Moms don’t get to go on the IR list. Looks like I’ll have to do my stretches, fill my own water bottle with electrolytes, and figure out how to better protect myself from injury.

Maybe I should invest in a mouth guard.

Mombie, out.

The Irrational Mourning of Saying Goodbye to Baby Things

There comes a time in every mother’s life when the time finally comes to let go of all the baby things. Those things that you shopped for and coveted; the pretty baby patterns and fabrics, the equipment you knew you’d need to have for your little peanut. The swings and playpens and carriers and bottle steamers.  The tiny shoes and baby rattles and feetie pajamas that can never be worn again.

Usually, when it comes to purging our tiny home of things we no longer need, I’m a boss. Haven’t worn it in three months? Donate. Has more dust on it than a dust bunny? Donate. Holey underwear, mismatched socks, shirt that hasn’t fit since college? Toss, toss, toss.

But this? Boxing up to donate or sell baby stuff? Quite frankly, friends, it sucks.

Let me give you a for instance. When we brought our little superhero home, I knew it would become important for me to carry him, especially since I work from home. I shopped baby carriers online till my fingers bled, and the one I coveted the most? A Tula, in a print that was so nerdy, it was delicious. I spent nights looking at the glossy pictures online, whispering sweet nothings to its image until I could finally convince my husband that it was worth it to spend $150 on something we could have gotten for much cheaper elsewhere.

But it had to be that Tula. That perfect, nerdy, comic-booky Tula. It was that one, or nothing. I wanted it. I needed it. I had to have it. My precious.

Reusing past graphics from my blog, and quickly updating them in Photoshop to be relevant to new posts, should be considered a superpower (in my humble opinion.)

Reusing past graphics from my blog, and quickly updating them in Photoshop to be relevant to new posts, should be considered a superpower (in my humble opinion.)

And finally, I got that which I had longed for. It was perfect. I loaded my little squish into his carrier and we would while away the mornings, folding laundry, answering phone calls, drinking coffee, and snuggling. It. Was. Perfection. It was great for shopping, it was great for calming him down before naptime, it was great for outdoor excursions….

Photo credit to my gorgeous and talented best friend, Jenna, for capturing this moment forever on film and making me weep every time I see it.

Photo credit to my gorgeous and talented best friend, Jenna, for capturing this moment forever on film and making me weep every time I see it.

It was so great.

As time has passed, The Tula (as it is known in our house) was brought out less and less. Occasional naps, infrequent trips through Target, once or twice to get through a particularly busy morning. But his desire to be held close eventually became replaced with his innate need to be in constant motion. Running. Playing. Exploring. As it should be.

And so, the time has come. Today is the day that I must part with my Tula, and all the snuggly memories that go along with it. It makes sense to part ways with it now—it’s been sitting on a shelf in his nursery for about 4 months. Logically I realize that trying to get him to go up in the carrier is kinda like trying to put an octopus into a bathing suit—not easy, super-frustrating, and likely to cause black eyes (mine, not his.)

Resigned, I take it down from its place of reverence, run my finger along the fabric, and tell myself it’s time for another Mommy to feel that same satisfaction of carrying her baby close to her heart. Time to share the wealth, to pass it down to a new little one, to move on. I lift The Tula to my nose, in a moment of weakness, hoping to catch a lingering scent of newborn there in the folds of fabric…and the realization hits me. My baby isn’t such a baby anymore.

Screw it. Who needs extra space, anyway?

Musings of a Tired Mom

We’ve been watching a lot of Sesame Street lately. (And when I say a lot, I mean enough that Brian and I are walking around singing songs about sharing, the alphabet, and the wheels on the bus on the regular.)

Now, if you’re not familiar with the Sesame Street family, this post isn’t going to mean anything to you. We thank you for stopping by, and wish you a very happy Tuesday.

But if you ARE familiar with the Sesame Street family, you’re totally going to get this post. Especially if you’re a stay-at-home-Mom with a pile of laundry up to your nose and an ever-overflowing trashcan.

I know Prairie Dawn is kind of a stick in the mud, but there are a lot of cool cats on the Street. You know, the kind of folks you might like to be friends with. Super Grover would be handy to have around as a pal since he’s generally adorable (even if he sucks at fixing stuff.) Elmo is a delight, once you get around the nasally voice and penchant for singing constantly. The Count is always helpful—especially if, like me, you stink at math.

But I’ve decided, of all the kids that live on Sesame Street, I’d like to be best friends with Abby Cadabby.

Abby and Abby

She has the coolest name on the planet. She’s pink and fluffy and adorable. And she has a penchant for making her own rules. But while those are all valid reasons to befriend a … puppet … that’s not the main reason why I’d woo her and make her my very own shiny BFF. (Just go with me here.)

I’d choose Abby Cadabby to be my best friend because she’s a magical fairy. And surely, in her large repertoire of spells, she MUST have a “clean the kitchen, vacuum the living room, wash all the laundry (and fold it too), write a grocery list, pick up all the stray Cheerios, steam clean all the bottles, and take out the trash, all while keeping the teething, clingy toddler happy” spell.

That’s not too complicated for a 4-year old imaginary puppet fairy, is it?

So move over, Elmo. Us Abby’s have to stick together.

This post is brought to you by the letter “P,” for Poorly Photoshopped Pictures.

A Celebration of the Stupid Crap We Did In The 80s

A dear friend of mine shared the funniest article about parenting with me the other day. If you’d like to read it, just click on the picture below:


This happy little dude is sitting in a 1970s car seat. Cute how that was considered safe, huh?

You’ll be shocked to learn that I wasn’t a parent in the 80s. But let me tell you what I was, readers. I was a KID. And some of the awesome stuff highlighted in this very article were projects my brother and I made up in order to keep ourselves occupied on those long, school-less summer days.

For instance…my little brother had a Little Tykes Cozy Coupe:

stupid 2

Every kid in the neighborhood did. Am I right?

It didn’t take us long to figure out that not-so-difficult math equation between his car, my bike, and my trusty old jump rope.

stupid coaster

We didn’t have to be a geniuses to figure out that if we tethered the car to the bicycle with a few solid knots, that we’d just created the world’s most basic roller coaster.

Thankfully (for my parents’ peace of mind, and their insurance bills) we only had one small hill in our front yard. It wasn’t like we lived in the mountains or anything. However, that small little hill gave us just enough momentum to make us feel like we were REALLY flying. I can still vividly remember the anticipation of that moment—the count down, the squeals of delight from my brother behind me, the feel of the wind in my mullet. Every single time my front tire sloped down the first few inches of grassy hill, my heart would skip a beat. It was, in a word, awesome.

And totally worth the ten sweaty minutes it would take us to untie the car, push it and the bike back to the top of the hill, re-secure our roller coaster of awesomeness, and do it all over again.

But don’t worry, friends–I was a responsible 10-year old. My 4-year-old little brother was instructed to keep his feet up and over the dashboard. And on the days when we were REALLY feeling like dare devils, I always made him borrow the helmet from his My Pet Monster.

stupid 6

He never got a concussion. Not once.

Drunken Pinterest, Part 3: The One With The Urinal

What better way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon than by perusing the oddities available on our favorite time-suck website, Pinterest? It didn’t take me long (approximately 19 minutes) to come up with six more strange things that the world wide web has to offer. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the fruits of my labor. (Don’t judge me. Almost twenty minutes is a long time to peruse!)

Public Urinal Is VERY Public


Sure, sure….I’m a woman. I couldn’t possibly understand the etiquette involved in peeing standing up in plain view of a room full of strangers. We ladies are sophisticated and have doors on our stalls.


But the thing that stands out most to me about this strange public toilet (other than how weird it is that someone took a picture of this gentleman relieving his bladder) is that there isn’t a whole lot of room to see what you’re doing there. Too much room for splatter. Am I right?

But what do I know about public urinal-ation?

Not Much, Until Now

Urinal AssistantMove over, John Q. Public. Women now possess the power to urinate standing up.

Even so, I still wouldn’t use one of those outdoor public toilets.

Somebody Needs a Hug

Hug Jacket

Two things. One: I just want to actually hug this model, because he got to tell his friends and family that he was finally getting his big break, and then THIS happened to him. And Two: I want mine in blue so I can tell people I’m being hugged by the Blue Man Group, all at the same time.

Feet Shoes…What?

Feet Shoes

I can’t look away. It’s like the strangest optical illusion I’ve ever seen. Seriously. Forget about the fact that you would always be stuck with the same nail polish color, or that your skin tone would have to be an exact match. Just close your eyes, then open them again real quick and stare at this picture. Try NOT to say the following words: “What the #*$$ am I looking at????”

Did you succeed? Me either.

In Honor Of National Name Yourself Day


Maaaaaaaan. He TOTES stole my name idea. Kudos, Beezow. Kudos.


Ice Cream Wasters

Look. I support art in all of its many varied forms. I’m a writer; I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t support people’s right to create.

But dude. DUDE. There are so many other mediums out there to paint with, so I have to ask that very long, punctuated question again, on behalf of every PMSing woman on the planet. WHY would you waste Ben and Jerry’s ice cream to paint a portrait of Steve Buscemi?

Ya dirty ice cream wasters.

If you’re curious to see what other crazy pins I’ve found during my search for the world’s strangest stuff, feel free to peruse my “I’m Sorry…What?” board on Pinterest! And if you find one you’d like featured in next month’s rendition of “Go Home, Pinterest, You’re Drunk,” send it on over to me at ThatGabbyAbby. Together, we can force Pinterest into rehab—but why would we? The drunk pins are SO FUNNY!

Conversations With My Husband: Romance

I was sitting at my computer yesterday, diligently doing research on new and exciting fundraising ideas, when my husband came in from mowing the lawn. The scent of freshly cut grass and sunshine and spring came in with him, and I smiled as he took off his headphones and kicked off his shoes.

“I’m gonna hit the showers,” he said, and made a beeline for the bathroom. Just as the door closed behind him, I heard him say, “I always feel so manly after the first mow of the season. Man. Arrrr.”

Brian on another "manly" day.

Brian on another “manly” day.

A few minutes later, he emerged, clean and fresh as a daisy. I hear him rummaging around in the bedroom, drawers opening and closing, and a momentary conversation with one of the cats. As I’m typing away at my keyboard, I suddenly felt his hands on my shoulders, his fingers kneading away some of the ever-present tension residing there.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, brushing a hand over my hair.

“Just some quick research,” I mumbled, focused on navigating my mouse.

“I have plans for us tonight,” he said quietly. His hand brushed over my hair. Playfully. Seductively.

“Oh?” I say, becoming distracted by my husband’s roving hands.

“Yeah.” He walked around to the side of my chair and pushed my hair away from my neck. “As soon as you’re done with work, and you’re home from the gym, we’re gonna have some fun.” He bends down and kisses my neck, just below my ear, in that spot I like best. Lingering.

And even after all this time, my heart skips a beat.

“Fun, huh?” I say, leaning into him. “So…whatcha got planned, hot shot?”

“I’m gonna kick your ass at Mario Party,” he whispers. And then he retreats to his favorite video gaming spot on the couch.

Romance sm

Romance. We’ve got it in spades.

(We did play Mario Party last night. And he won. Twice.)

Nothin’ To See Here (Except a Dance Party)

So I was messing around on my blog’s Facebook page yesterday, and I decided that, if I was ever going to maintain my internet celebrity status, I needed to get everybody on my friends’ list on board. So I sent out a huge wave of invites, hoping to pick up a few stragglers along the way.

I got twenty new page likes in a little less than two hours.


So I posted the following on my feed, hoping to inspire more folks to like and share the page:

FB page 1

And it worked. I’m in awe of social media. I was up to 155 likes this morning–bringing my total of new likes to a whopping 34!!

I always keep my word, and so, as promised—for fans new and old alike, I give to you, an AbbyGabs jig.

How Abby Became Internet Famous (Thanks To That Drunk Guy On ‘Jail’ Who Turned Out To Be Pseudo-Famous)

I’ve written about a lot of things here on Abby Gabs over the years. I’ve told you funny stories about my husband, Photoshopped silly pictures of myself doing silly things, and illustrated moments in my life that have been deemed blog-worthy. I’ve discussed current events, shared with you my hopes and dreams, and written about everything from Donnie Wahlberg to depression. I’ve even tackled emotional subjects like cancer, adoption, weight loss, and infertility.

So naturally, you would HAVE to expect that out of all the many blogs I’ve posted, there must be at least one that has garnered enough attention to warrant calling myself “internet famous.”


Well, you’d be right, readers. But never in a million years would I have guessed that the Gabs most likely to be clicked on would be one I wrote in the first year of publication about an unknown actor named Evan, and his televised night in the drunk tank on a reality show.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the most read post in Abby Gabs history, “What Happens When You Cross Cough Medicine with Bad TV?”

It’s all about our discovery of a dude named Evan Lockwood, who apparently appeared in famous movies like “Ramblin’ Rose” and “Fried Green Tomatoes.” But he’s more famous for his drunken speeches on the Spike reality show, “Jail.” This post includes a half-assed “video blog” of me (in my jammies and wearing no makeup) doing my best impersonation of Evan’s ramblin’ “Ramblin’ Rose” speech.

For your amusement:

I only hate myself a little bit for sharing this terrible video again. And all in the name of internet fame.

Anyway, I always know when Spike has aired a rerun of this particular episode, because my little blog get a flurry of activity, and I get a slew of new comments on this post. Why?

Because if you see the episode, the first thing you do (or at least the first thing I did) was turn to Google to see if this guy’s story has any validity. And here’s what pops up:

Lockwood 1

First and foremost, I’d like to drag your attention to the fact that Mr. Lockwood does, in fact, has his very own IMDB page…which lists him as an actor in “Ramblin’ Rose,” “Fried Green Tomatoes,” and, hilariously, “Jail.”

Secondly, let the record reflect that Mr. Lockwood is also active on social media powerhouses, Twitter AND Facebook.

But the most important lesson here, friends, is that when the American public get their first taste of Evan Lockwood on Jail, the SECOND thing that pops up in their curiosity-ridden Google search is my little blog.



This phenomenon explains the awesomesauce of comments I’ve received on this post, including my all-time favorite:

Capture 1

Thanks, Seifer! Not only do you have a seriously awesome name, but your suggestion that I become a famous movie actor will be subsequently stewed over, and potentially acted upon.

Ha. Acted upon.

See what I did there?

And so, in the event that one day you see little ol’ me traipsing down a red carpet, I have Evan Lockwood, the producer of “Jail,: and Seifer from Cleveland to thank.

(Thanks, guys, in case I forget to thank you in my Oscar acceptance speech.)


Today is St. Patrick’s Day (in case you were wondering why people are walking around in green from head to toe and shouting Gaelic phrases at you while drinking Guinness from their coffee mug.)

There are lots of reasons I love St. Patrick’s Day (the coffee mug of Guinness is only one of them.) While I know my family is of Irish decent, I’m probably only 1/67th% Irish. But that doesn’t keep me from celebrating our heritage, and with gusto. Here are a few of my favorite things about St. Patrick’s Day.

The Food
Look, guys, I’m not going to sugar coat it for you. I’m Irish, and I love potatoes. I think it might be written in the law somewhere that Irish people have to love spuds. Even though I’ve been eating healthy for the past year, we still have potatoes around here on the regular. (There are some things you just make room for in your healthy eating plan. Like potatoes. And chocolate ice cream.) We also visit our favorite local pub on an alarmingly frequent basis. (They know us by name. And order, because we always get the same thing.)

There’s something about Irish food…the kind you make on St. Patrick’s Day…that just takes “comfort food” to the next level. Shepherd’s Pie, Corned Beef and CabbageIt just doesn’t get any better than that.

But…it sort of does. Our family’s most favorite Irish recipe is Whiskey-Braised Pork Shoulder with Colcannon.

Whiskey braised pork
<Paused for drool clean-up.>

It’s just…I mean…look at that…I can’t even.

Just trust me. Read the recipe. Buy the ingredients. Cook this meal. And thank me later.

The Sentiment
I always wondered where my penchant for sage advice came from–both the giving and the receiving. I’m guessing it must be my Irish blood, because the blessings and phrases and quotes that come out of Ireland are some of my favorites.

“Lose an hour in the morning, and you’ll be looking for it all day.”

“You’ll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind.”

“You’ve got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your father was.”

(It’s imperative that, when reading these quotes, you drop all the g’s, and put on your thickest Irish brogue. Trust me, it just works.)

These phrases don’t necessarily have to do with the celebration of St. Paddy’s, but they tend to come out of the woodwork around this time of year. There’s nothing better than a good turn of phrase to get my juices flowing. And I also happen to love some of the Irish blessings that show up on Facebook on March 17. My favorite?

Irish wish

Tis the wish I wish for you, my friend.

The Parties
There are lots of other holidays that have parties that try to rival St. Patrick’s Day—Cinco de Mayo, Independence Day, Christmas, my birthday. They just don’t hold a candle to the parades, the dancing, and the merriment that we Irish partake of…well, pretty much year round, but especially on St. Patrick’s Day. Savannah, Charleston, Boston, NYC…you don’t have to look very hard to find a rowdy group of Irishmen (and women!) ready to don their favorite green gear and spend the day searching for the luck of their people.

Plus, you know…there’s the Guinness.


st patty's day

What else do you need to officially claim St. Patrick’s Day to be the most fun holiday, ever?

A half-assed Photoshopped picture of me as a dancing leprechaun?


Abby leprechaun

There. I win. St. Patrick’s Day RULES.

Guess What, Guys? Pinterest Is STILL Drunk

I wrote a post last month called “Go Home, Pinterest. You’re Drunk.” You guys sort of loved it. In fact, it got more traffic, comments, and shares than any blog I’ve written in the last 6 months. So, I thought it would be a kick in the pants to turn it into a serial.

You’re welcome, readers.

And so, without further ado, here are some more of my favorite pins from the world weird website, Pinterest.

The Bath Poof Dress


I’ll be the first one to admit to you that I know diddly squat when it comes to fashion. Trends always skip me by, I’m always the last to know that I can’t wear black shoes with a navy blue dress, and my nails look like they should belong to a five-year-old nail biter. However, I’m pretty certain about one thing: I don’t strive to look like a giant bath poof when I go to a cocktail party.

The funniest part of this pin? It’s not a Halloween costume tutorial.

The Ostrich Pillow


First of all, sleeping in public places is just weird. People can steal your purse, or draw on your face with a sharpie, or stick things in your ear. I suppose this product would keep them from accomplishing two of those three things, but it also accomplishes making you look like a complete weirdo who sleeps in public with a giant pillow on your head. Weirdo.

Crocheted Short Shorts….For Men


Again, I’m no fashion-guru. For all I know, lemon-yellow is the 2015 color of the year. But I’m pretty sure that the short shorts look for men went out of fashion sometime in the early 1990s. Maybe the next time you want to crochet a gift for your man, you should take a page from my last Pinterest post and make him THIS instead.

I’m Sorry—Did you say Watermelon JERKY?


I have one word for you, readers. Ew.

The Privacy Dome


Love your hubby, but hate the attention you get when you suck face in public? Well, this is the product for you! Just unfold the purse-looking apparatus, plop it down over your heads, and enjoy that kiss fest! No one will EVER KNOW what you’re doing under there! Perfect for weddings, the post office, cocktail parties, holidays, and even an afternoon stroll through Target. Now you can enjoy that makeout sesh just as if you were in the privacy of your own home. (Also comes in black.)

There is nothing left on the internet that can top that last one, kiddies. Trust me, I’ve looked. If you’d like to see more weird things, visit my Pinterest board titled “I’m Sorry…WHAT?” And if you stumble across a hilarious pin yourself that you’d like to see featured here on AbbyGabs, send it to me at ThatGabbyAbby. Let’s find Pinterest’s weirdest pins together, readers! Until next time…happy pinning.