My kids are Auditioning for Jacka$$ 2023 Edition, EVERY DAY

Well, here is the story about probably the most inappropriate thing that was ever said in a Build-A-Bear.

Because what my funny kids did to me there ten years ago apparently wasn’t embarrassing enough.

Because my kids are auditioning for Jacka$$ 2023, EVERYDAY.

Our youngest has had a bunny from Build-A-Bear since before he was born.

When I was pregnant with him I took our four year-old twins to build “the baby in Mamma’s belly” a stuffed animal to bring to the hospital.

It was a very sweet day.

But you aren’t here for that.

The “embarrass Abbie moment” is coming up.

First, you have to see I am TRYING to raise good and normal boys.


They made a wish for their little brother while holding the little red Build-A-Bear hearts.

They gave them a kiss and the two hearts were sewn up into the bunny.

When Peter began talking he named his bunny, well…Bunny.

After the lady at the store filled the bunny up with fluff the big boys went to bathe and brush the bunny. If you have ever been at a Build -A-Bear you know there is a fake bathtub that is really a table that looks like a cartoon bathtub and instead of spraying water it shoots air to fluff up your new friends fur.

Build-A-Bear Bunny

Cute right?

Until I looked over and one of my twins was LAYING ON THE FAKE BATHTUB while his brother was giggle screaming blasting him in the face with the air nozzle.

No.  There are no pictures of that.  I was too busy wobbling over to stop them.  Remember, the child came out 10 1/2 pounds which is why I wrote “My Bellybutton is Now a Cupholder.” Click this for THAT “funny” story (at my expense again)

So we laughed for a few years about that and our youngest really begins to love his “Bunny.”

Bunny Love Collage

He loves it so much that when he turns two he wants a “new” bunny that he names New Bunny.

Adorable, right?

Eventually there is a birthday party at the store for a friend and he picks out…you guessed it, a NEW “New Bunny!”

For all these  years the trio of amigos sleep with him every night.  They go on trips in suitcases and they are well loved.

For being a tough guy, he is shameless about having his bunnies with him.

He also spends a great deal of time putting them into situations where “kill the bunny” would be an appropriate title.   The kid has issues to work through with having two big brothers beating him down all day.


When I found Bunny in this “situation” I feared Peter had found a copy of “Fifty Shades of Grey” so I wrote a little ditty called “Poor Husbands and their Wives’ Naughty Books” and you can read that by clicking HERE and read the funny about the Bethenny Frankel show calling me about that piece HERE.

Flash forward ten years and we are at the mall Saturday buying the big boys new tennis shoes.

Peter is being patient  but does ask to go into Build-A-Bear.

If you have a youngest child, that means you know you are done having babies these things are bitter sweet.

This was probably going to be the last time any of my kids will want to go into that store.

Even his big brothers recognized it.

He asked to get another bunny.


I said yes.

All choked up.  All of my three boys there.  All.  Choked.  Up.

His big brothers and I talked about when they laid onto the bathtub and how their little brother’s first bunny has two hearts inside instead of one.

Build-A-Bear Fun

We stuffed his new bunny and went to the register to pay in a long line, the kind of line the store only has on a Saturday.

It was our turn.

The young girl smiles big and leans in and asks sweetly,

“Does your new bunny have a name?”

I am waiting for the “New, New, New Bunny” reply when his raspy little voice next to me says,



All I can think to do is dive into the imaginary fox hole cartoon style because I know what is coming next and judging by the looks on his brothers faces, they would be jumping in that fox hole right next to me.

We all know what “Herbert’s” last name is in our house.  Herbert is the guy from “Family Guy.”

Actually, as soon as “Herbert” was said one of the twins RAN out of the store.

I was making the “Nooooooooo….!” face mixed with the poop face.

He says,

“Herbert!  Herbert the Pervert!”

Herbert The Pervert

You know this guy…

Family Guy’s Herbert the Pervert

I am now making the squinty eyes smile face at the sweet sales girl.

The sweet 20 something year old  know now she must have flunked out of teachers school sales girl says,

“Well, I guess you won’t be sleeping with HIM tonight!”

(wink wink)

I instantly wanted to high five her.

Like jump up and give her the “we women unite against these smart as$ed boys” high five!

I also strangely wanted to high five my own little smart as$ed little boy because he did that thing his mamma does that makes me, his mamma, giggle.

I like to say things to make someone uncomfortable and keep a straight face.

You know like the time the twins stuck their heads in the urinals at preschool.


When I told the teachers that I dunk their heads in the toilet when they have an accident to try and explain WHY my kids would dip their hair in the school urinals.


His timing.  The pause and then the straight, matter of fact delivery of “Herbert.  Herbert the Pervert” with not a smirk in his freckled little face just made me think that they did indeed give me the right baby back after they cleaned all the baby juices off of him that day he was born.  I am still a little dazed after giving birth to DOUBLE DIGITS, AGAIN!

He not only meant to deliver uncomfortableness to this poor sweet girl, he was trying to embarrass his brothers and me in front of this giant line of folks.

My tag line on my blog and Twitter and Facebook and all my accounts is usually something along the lines of, “Abbie Gale is a writer & humorist at while raising the next cast of Jacka$$ while married to a Dr who asks her to cover her cleavage as it reminds him of work…”

I am not kidding folks.  

My life is a sitcom.

I burst into squeals between the sales girls response and the fact that my nine year-old pimped his brother to the point he sprinted out of the store and he was also able to keep a straight face when I was reacting to just, “Herbert.”

It was a fine line to not draw attention and get the gal fired…

(for being awesome and then I would have to hire her to correct my punctuation on my blog but we would be fast best friends because she is awesome, like me, the farm animal incubator)

…and still let her know that she rocked dishing it right back to my little stinker.

Yes, little tear in my eye when I realized our Build-A-Bear family circle started and ended in a ten year span, at the very same store where it all began.

Who would have ever thought two little boys, that almost made me run out of that very same store ten years ago while they crawled onto the “bathtub”, would eventually be running out embarrassed their little brother was telling the store clerk that he didn’t name his bunny “New New New Bunny” but instead “Herbert the Pervert.”

Proud.  Mom.  Moment.

Also I am pretty sure we are on a “no serve” list at “The Bear” after this one.

I am ok with it.  I have a vacation home spent on Build-A-Bears.

Abbie Gale
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You might enjoy these stories and further proof the kids are all NUTS, (and they might get it from me.)

Even The Universe Finds Us Ridiculous

My husband and I have been together since we were kids in rural Michigan.  Our families still share vegetables, (mostly because they want to rub it in each others faces who’s came in first and who has the biggest) and my husband never had a washer and dryer growing up.  Sundays were laundromat days with just him and his dad.  It wasn’t that they couldn’t afford to buy a washer and dryer it was because he was growing up in the family farmhouse.

No electricity on the second floor kind of house.  

The kind of place where the windows would freeze up on the inside during Michigan winters and the outside was peeling plywood.  Eventually they would push the place over with a tractor and drop a modular home where it once stood but that was after my husband was raised and gone and long after his mom moved out with his sisters.   He rode dirt bikes and when he could finally drive legally he drove HIS car that had only one knob that you moved around to control everything on the dash and it smelled like spoiled milk and you didn’t care because it was $50 bucks and you paid in cash.

His dad was stabbed in a bar fight (he lived) and his mom worked in one.  

His cousin had a baby in the bathroom at the VFW.  No one knew she was pregnant but now everyone knows she is the girl who had the baby in the toilet.  That is how he grew up and what made him who he is or like he says, “That’s why we are raising our kids ten hours away.”

I had twins with many health problems the first year so I proclaimed I was NOT going back to work to support us.  We would have to make due on the little bit of student loans we could get.  That meant sharing a car.  My grandparents thought this was completely stupid.  Who would have thought that someone from their generation would think a one car household was stupid?

This giant gold van pulls into my driveway one day.  

My grandparents get out of it and they tell me its mine.  This is not a minivan.  This is a full size conversion van with running boards and mini blinds.  I smile because I have been raised right as they show me why we need this house on wheels.  It was customized.  It was customized?  They didn’t know that my giant double stroller folded up.  Picture the front seat being two giant RV chairs and an oak dashboard/control center.  I have an entire panel of mood lighting controls.  The middle row is a bench that you climb up a couple of steps to get in with only one door on one side and this is where it gets freaky…there is a piece of glass directly behind the second row bench.  It has the wall of glass like a limo.  Behind the glass is a truck bed.  It is half truck so you simply toss the giant twin stroller in because they didn’t know it folded up.  Do I not have the sweetest grandparents ever?

Now look at it though the eyes of a 27-year-old woman who just had two babies, I have two babies nursing on me constantly.

I feel anchored to the center of the earth.

I just quit my fab job that allowed me to travel and I now had a…

“ghetto gold-Chester-theMolester-no-one-will-park-next-to-me-at-the-mall-for-fear-of-being-abducted” full size conversion van to drive around my hometown, that I just moved back to after five years of living away.  They are all going to see we made it BIG.

I just kept smiling because I was pretty sure the giant “Half-Back” that was printed across the front window, so if you were standing in the front of the van and you couldn’t see that the back half was a truck, you would know, was actually stickers that I might be able to scrape off.

Flash forward several years and we got the heck out of our home town.

What were we thinking moving back?  

We landed in the south, in a “country club community”.  In a “gated” country club community.  Jim worked hard and is a physician now.  His parents both take credit that it’s from their side.  He does have some MAD pool playing skills they endowed him with.   I sang George Jefferson’s “Moving on up” for months as I padded around our new home.

When we moved into our “forever house” my husband was still in training and so we were still driving our beat up old cars and I was still driving Chester.

I have never met a more comfortable seat and never had to leave anything behind because it didn’t fit in the car on a road trip.  The blinds were now a little crooked and the fabric seats keep our shampooer plugged in and I may have torn a running board half off while making a turn but it was free.

My husband kept asking me to pick out a new car.  I couldn’t stop telling people about my neighbor lady that apologized for not waving to me because she didn’t recognize me in my “van”.  She went on to explain she though I was a housekeeper.  Nice.

I kept saying “NO” to my husband about replacing Chester. I told him with three boys and their stuff I needed a car that big.  He finally pulled into a Chevy dealership and said pick out the color of a Suburban .  I said, “White and can I get leather seats?”

The next thing my husband does is insist we get those stickers of that represent our family and plaster us all across the back.  To me these are like a dog marking its territory.  It is as if someone lifted their leg and marked the car so everyone around would know who it and its contents belonged to.

I have always had a theory that those stick families are not on the people’s cars that knew they would eventually find themselves a family.  

They are for the people who weren’t sure that someone would marry them and then agree to have their kids and then they would all stay together long enough that you need stick people in various sizes.

I buy them and hope he forgets but he doesn’t.

I put them on but I did not put them in order of height.  It was my protest.  The entire time I was putting them on I kept thinking of the “half-back” I removed from the front of the van my grandparents bought us.  My grandparents are now gone and it aches.  Those little stickers mean something to my husband and I understand.

I often tease that the club and neighborhood didn’t do a good background check before they “let us in” because we felt a bit out-of-place in this environment.  That is when I am, again, reminded that God has a sense of humor because my new shiny license plate for my shiny new Suburban comes in the mail and my plate randomly says…


There were news reports that these were indeed printed mistakenly and that we could return them to the license plate office.

I didn’t.  

I like the irony.  I like where we came from and believe it or not I like where we are.  Sure, my kids never have to wonder if I’m frying pork chops to mask the smell of Marijuana and they don’t know how to shoot a squirrel out of a house window but they are sweet.  I drive my clean white Suburban with the ironic license plate  proudly and with a smirk.

Added a few days later…

 I thought my husband was going to kill me when he read it (and because he screamed for me to come in the house when he came home from work) but then when I came in (from fake gardening out by the road – hiding from him) he was a little teared up.  Then he gave me a future post idea…he told me my story was so touching but my grammar and punctuation was, “like a man who is an adult film star but really ugly.”  Bahahaha!  I only emailed him the story because someone we know, (the only person I know who has read my blog) tweeted a link to the story and FB’d it and I was like crap…its about Jim….I better tell him first (that I told the story of the cousin having a baby in a toilet and the other family stuff).  

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We Could all Use a Laugh Today

I rolled the dice yesterday knowing I live in a community of overachievers.

I figured if I waited until the last minute to vote, all my responsible neighbors would be done already.

I parked and walked right in.  Not one person ahead of me at 5:08.

I outsmarted the smarties!

I voted while talking to the poll workers slurring, again?!!!

I live in a small enough town that I always know about half the people that work the polls and nearly everyone in line.

How can I end up having root canals on the last two election days?

Of course I would!



I am a grinder.  I grind when people are saying things I don’t agree with and then I grind all night.

I hold all of my stress in my jaw and the result…crumbling, horrible, rotten teeth.

With a country divided in half I am grinding half the time.

Then by the time election day comes…”emergency” root canal!  ;)

I can’t bring myself to vote the morning before the root canal as I am particulary grumpy and making the “poop face.”

Because I also tend to say awkward things when NOT in throbbing pain my fear of being trapped in a line with half the people around me being stupid and half the people around me thinking I am stupid I would have to fight the urge to whop people on the forehead.

I know they wont let me get a root canal in jail and so I go vote AFTER I get my root canal.




Last election I announced to everyone within 20 feet of me, “I just had a root canal.  I AM NOT DRUNK.”

I’m smarter though now, (and I may not care if the folks think I’m nuts since I now know half of everyone is a moron.)
Now I only talk to the people affiliated with the party I am NOT voting for that is handing out pamphlets.
I figure we both think the other is stupid anyway.
While I listen to them telling who to vote for I just slobber and tell them enthusiastically and with a drunken slur “Thank You!”
Now who’s questioning their party affiliation?
Not me.
The guy scratching his head watching me turn the ignition key and not doing a darn thing about it.
Yep, the “other party” letting the drunk soccer mom drive away.
Oh, come on, its funny!!!  It’s funny!
I pulled up a story I wrote on Election Day four years ago and thought you all might enjoy a laugh. I need a laugh today. Don’t know what I’m dreading more, the root canal or voting. The doc I will instinctually want to bite and the people at the polls I will want to instinctually want to thump in the head. Where is Sara Palin for comedic relief? I will tell you…read the story below.
Four years ago…
God help you if you knocked on our door this fall. You would be asked whom you were voting for and if you answered “wrong” they would completely be perplexed and troubled that you didn’t see it their way. Their way was that Obama was like Robin Hood and taking from the rich to give to the poor. They have always been little socialists and pooled their allowance money into one piggy bank. NO ONE is ever allowed to spend any so I guess we should be very thankful that they are savers. Even Peter, at four, was counting campaign signs daily to try and figure out who was going to win, (pretty remarkable when his “sight words” began to include Obama and McCain.”)

When the day came for me to go and vote, (early and happily without a line) I wanted to take all three boys to experience it. After many speeches on how to act the boys still couldn’t help themselves and tried to peek and see who the person next to them was voting for.

Thank heaven most were neighbors and found the boys funny. When leaving with their “I Voted Today!” stickers proudly on their shirts we noticed a friend of ours was in the parking lot of the polling station with a sign, chair and pamphlets.
I stopped to say hello and then began walking with the boys towards our car.
Avery asked why she was standing there with a sign.
I told him that her father was running for an office and she was campaigning for him and asking people for their vote.
Avery, (very excited) asked, “You mean to tell me that she is John McCain’s daughter?”
Before I had a chance to reply Mitchell chimed in, “Nooooo Avery! Sarah Palin is John McCain’s daughter!”

Funniest Bumper “sticker” ever

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Should Have Married a Dentist

I love iPhoto.  I tried repeatedly to erase a blemish on someone’s face before I realized my laptop screen has a little boy “finger goober” on it.

Go Irish!

Then I had that “oh crap” moment! You know, the moment you realize you just sprayed your laptop screen with your dogs breath spray instead of the screen cleaner.

Lastly, I had an epiphany when I realized the two must have the exact same ingredients.

“I don’t need no stinkin’ breath spray! I just need chipmunk. Why wont anyone get me a chipmunk to cuddle on?”

Lets just call it what it was…a very welcomed unproductive week.
BTW  Tooth pain is distracting and its just plain wrong that society looks down on toothless folks.  If the sunken gummy smile ever becomes stylish I will be the first on board.  I should have married a dentist.

Abbie Gale

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Halloween Costume Voting is the the Best Kind of Voting

You know I have to pull some favorite pictures to share.  Please look at the last picture if you have ever thought me a liar.

Honestly, the kids faces in these pics crack me up!  What a fun time to pretend.

I think we should family theme dress tonight and I can be “Lady at the Spa” and they can be all the people that work at the spa.  One of them rubs my shoulders.  One of them paints my fingernails.  One of them rubs my feet while giving me a pedicure.  And Jim pays!  Brilliant and I wont even have to get dressed tonight, BATHROBE!

Your vote counts!  At least in this poll 50% of your friends wont think you’re an idiot if you tell them who your voting for.  This also means you won’t have to think half your friends are morons.   

[polldaddy poll=6652557]

Abbie Gale

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