About julie ott

Julie Ott is not your stereotypical midwestern housewife/supermom. Whoever that is. Julie is slightly sarcastic, mostly honest and suuphhher funny.

seven

Somehow, in the blink of an eye, you’ve turned 7. My baby girl. My peanut. Now an independent, confident and silly girl with a mind of her own. You’ve become

a girl with a penchant for lip gloss, jewelry, art supplies and beating up on her brother!

a girl that challenges me in ways I didn’t know was possible.

a girl that makes me giggle.

a girl I love to snuggle.

a girl that forces me to bake.

a girl I love in ways I didn’t know was possible.

Happy Birthday, Peanut!  Welcome to 7. I hope you rock this year as you’ve done every year since 2006.

hi. remember me?

No, it’s not lost on my that I write a terrific post about meeting The Bloggess, finding inspiration to write and then fall silent on this here blog.  I’d like to tell you I’ve been off writing my novel, but that, my friends, would be a lie.  At best, I’ve written a children’s book. About a little girl. And a unicorn.  IF putting some notes on my iphone “counts” as writing.

So in an attempt to justify my lack of writing to myself to you, let me illustrate all the ways I’ve been horribly busy:

  • Watching my boyfriend Adam on The Voice. You do know this is back on, right? Battle rounds, c’mon!
  • Watching the at least 72 Real Housewives Reunions aired during the past 4 weeks. Those shows don’t watch themselves, people!
  • Roadtripping for Spring Break. 12 hours in the car each way. How could I have possibly found time to write in between setting up movies, delivering fruit snacks and stabbing Capri Suns? Seriously.
  • Laying on the beach during said Spring Break. Again, #busy. Sand needed sat on.
  • Watching my boyfriend Adam on The Voice. (Seriously, this is taking up a lot of my time.  And it’s all “healthy” and I know you’re doing it too!)
  • Facetiming my sister in Germany. Gotta keep that relationship solid.
  • Getting nailed with strep throat (who gets that at 40?? WTF), feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck and whining about it on facebook.

So as you can see, I’ve been swamped.  No time to focus on writing. Busy. Very, very busy.

finding my voice with the help of The Bloggess

When I started this blog a couple of years ago, my idea was to keep the far-away family updated on the stories of this crazy ass family “I’m in charge of” AND get some of it written down so I would remember all the madness later. Like weeks later, not just years later.

As I learned more and explored this whole blogging, social media, web internet thingy I stumbled across some super funny people I had never heard of before. One of them was The Bloggess. Something “they” (aka the writing experts) talk about is finding your voice. I felt pretty sure of my voice, but I wasn’t confident with my voice. There’s a big difference between the two. But then I stumbled upon The Bloggess, aka Jenny Lawson.

Initial impression – GET THE HELL OUTTA MY HEAD! While our story isn’t the same, she tells stories just like me…here, here, over there, back to here, now there, and here. Someone with “my voice” was telling her stories and people were responding. I can write. I should write. And keep writing the funny crap while finding confidence with my voice.

And then she wrote a book. HOLY BALLS. Hundreds of pages of her words. Stories told here, here, over there, back to here, now there and here. All in one, big book!

thebloggess book

If you haven’t read it yet, you’re missing out on some serious humor. And possible peeing of your pants. My husband read it on our way to Mexico for our anniversary and I’m pretty sure he was shaking the plane with his strong laughter with tears streaming down his face.  A friend of mine woke her husband up as she shook the bed laughing. He woke up asking “what are you doing over there? HINT HINT” I don’t think he got the answer he wanted. She was only innocently laying there, laughing.

And then last night happened.  She came to visit ME! Okay fine, she was at a bookstore nearby and a couple of us went. It was happening – I was meeting someone I deeply admire in person. Those things don’t happen very often, and I was thrilled. And of course, I had to bring Friedrich. She’s got her collection of taxidermy animals, so why wouldn’t I bring my stuffed German unicorn. BOOONNNNDINGGG!

I love everything about this pic. Except my buck teeth. Or lack of lower lip. #perspective

I love everything about this pic. Except my buck teeth. Or lack of lower lip. #perspective

And bonding we did. She loved it. I loved it.  Photos happened and we spoke of his need of rainbow suspenders AT THE VERY SAME TIME! Jinx. You owe me a Coke. OR you can tell me we are sisters and whatever, “that’s cool!” I made The Bloggess laugh.  Jenny Lawson laughed. At me. With me.  See I am funny. Funnnnnn-eeeee. (I’m probably writing this to tell myself, but you can keep telling me. Maybe I’ll just call Jenny and we’ll talk about dead cuban alligators, stuffed German unicorns & rainbow suspenders.)

I also made a “charitable donation” and purchased this poster at auction. It’s a signed piece of art that will stare at me day & night and remind me to write. Remind me that I’m funny. The Bloggess wrote that “I rock” in knowing me all of 30 seconds. HELLLLLO, first impressions.

writing inspiration new home

She also told me it took her 12 years to write her story. I wonder if I can do mine in 11? I will stare at my poster and try.

For those of you that haven’t experienced The Bloggess yet, here are a couple more links to some of my favorites. Read those, then go get lost in her site. Oh, and go buy her book! NOW! You can thank me later.

And that’s why you should learn to pick your battles.

Follow your dreams. Unless they’re dreams about making out with yourself. Those are weird. You probably need therapy.

nine

NINE!

Dang it Will, you’re growing fast, my lil man. I know there’s nothing really little about you anymore. Your hands are now bigger than mine. Your feet bigger than mine. I can still claim to be taller, but I have zero confidence I’ll be able to say the same thing next year. And sometimes when we cuddle, I’m not sure if I’m cuddling you or you’re cuddling me. Seems you’re the bigger one these days, and I find all of that amazingly crazy!

You were my first born. My lil man! We’ve recently joked about you only being around the house another 9 years until you’re “all grown up and on your way outta the house.” We laugh and then I tell you to stop saying that as my eyes well up with tears. You laugh. I laugh. But inside, OUCH. Only 9 more years??!  These past 9 years have been a blink; I can’t imagine you on your way out in only 9 more.

So on this special day, I tell you that I love you. Just as I tell you every day. I had NO idea what being a Mom would be like and how I would feel. No one can tell you. You have to experience it to know.

I know that I love you with all my heart. I know that you changed my life in the most amazing ways. I know that you are an incredible kid with a huge heart. I know, at 9, you’re entering a new stage, there’s girls, there’s “feelings,” there’s friendships changing, there’s the basic stuff of growing up that’s gonna come your way. I know I have no idea what’s coming. I know you’re going to try some stupid things, and I know you’re going to do some amazing things.

And I know I’m thrilled to be along for the ride. As your Mom. Much, much love to you lil man!

Happy Birthday! Love, Mom

all about balls

This morning we had an “incident” of a ball knocking over a drink after breakfast. Which led to the following conversation:

ME: “You can NO LONGER play with your balls IN this house!”

Will: “I wasn’t playing with my balls!”

ME: “You were playing with your balls and now everything is all wet. Help me clean up this mess. RIGHT. NOW!”

Later. At the bus stop, after he walked over with a huge pout on his face, I said: “I don’t want you going to school mad. I love you very much. You just can’t play with your balls in this house any more.”

Will: “But what about Hannah?”

Hannah: “I don’t even have any balls!”

And that, my friends, is how I sent my kids off to school this morning…

40 isn’t the new 20. is it?

For those of you keeping track, cause I’ve talked about here and here and here and now here, I turn 40 this weekend. It’s a big deal. It’s the new 20. And who doesn’t want to do their 20s over again. Me. Probably. Not really up for that. Except some it was fun. But not the whole graduating, finding a real job and real place to live and liking a boy and then not and trying to move to Seattle and then not and then trying back home and then not and then liking a boy and then not and then living in a city I hated, then not.

Nevermind. Let’s hope it’s not my 20s over again. But let’s hope it’s a whole helluva a lotta fun. (KIDS – you hear me? This is going to be fun. 40=FUN. Loosely translated into a word math problem means I’m tired of saying no, telling you to brush your teeth daily and feeding you every day. So, I’ll keep feeding you if you start listening and ummm, brushing your teeth without reminders. Please. And thank you. You have until Saturday to get your shit together!)

Here’s to 40! Which I’m turning this weekend. Have you heard? 4-0. Four-Zero. Me. A list of presents to follow later this week….you’re welcome!

10 years ago

10 years ago, about this time in February:

  • I was about to turn 30.
  • I’d been a bride for all of 6 months.
  • There were no children and barely a thought of children.
  • We were a one dog household.
  • I was starting a new job.
  • We were living in our first house.
  • I wasn’t driving a minivan and was adamant I never would.
  • My hair was short.
  • I didn’t have Facebook, twitter or know what a blog was.

Today:

  • I’m about to turn 40.
  • We’ve surpassed the 10 year mark in our marriage. It’s been a ride! Just like “they” say it can be.
  • We have 2 kids.  One about to turn 9, the other almost 7. HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN? (I mean the them getting older part. I get how the kids happened. I think.)
  • We are now a 2 dog household, and had to say goodbye to the one we had 10 years ago. RIP Chesney!
  • I have the same “job” but the name of the place has changed 3 times, I’m not doing the same thing, I’ve moved cities twice, and I’ve met some amaze balls people. Some still around. Some moved on.
  • We are in our 3rd house and unless I win the lottery and move to my dream beach house, we may be here for another 10 years. And I’m okay with that.
  • I drive a minivan, have for awhile and liked it. But I’m starting to get that feeling that I don’t belong behind the wheel of a minivan. Over it!
  • My hair is short.
  • I “have” Facebook, twitter, pinterest (with 13,245 pins. 3 of them attempted) and a blog called ottmama.com

I wonder what this list looks like in 10 years!

oh siri. that’s not what i’m saying!

I, like a lot of people, have an iPhone. I, like a lot of people, have given up on using Siri. Well most of time, except when I’m driving and have an uber-important message that must get out during the 15 minutes it takes me to get to Kroger or Walmart and back. Hypothetically. If I were ever to go to a grocery store and/or Walmart.

As for my voice, very important for Siri, I’d like to think I have an average, easily understood, maybe sometimes a bit too fast voice. An average voice for a girl from “Wis-cgon-sin” – yeh it’s pronounced with a “g” in it. Thanks for asking. The only time my voice isn’t average is when I hear it recorded. Then I sound like an asshole. But don’t we all.

Now here’s my issue with Siri. Sometimes, when I’m NOT driving, I need to send my husband a text. An uber-important message that must be sent immediately with probably a lot of important words and much too long for me to type. So I use Siri. Apple and Martin Scorsese have shown me how easy she is to use in the back of a taxi. I’m sure I can use her in the front of a minivan.

My husband’s name is Michael Ott. But most of time I just call him Mike. Except when he’s in trouble and I have to scream call him by his God given name of Michael. So yeah, sometimes, when I have to text him, I call him Mike. Again, sometimes I don’t want to type so I say to Siri:

Text Mike Ott

To which Siri replies: Okay, I can text my cock. Who would you like me to send that to?

Me (shouting): NO, TEXT MICHAEL OTT.

Siri: I do not understand MICHAEL OTT.

Me: Okay, Text Mike Ott.

To which Siri replies: Okay, I can text my cock. Who would you like me to send that to?

At this point, I’ve either crashed into a telephone pole or stomped on Siri’s face. Usually, I just run into the telephone pole, cause stomping on Siri’s face would require me to replace my iPhone. But OH MY GOD, I just want to stomp on her face.

Also, are that many people really texting “my cock”? I guess I missed that part of the Scorsese ad.

this week in photos

Hannah gave the smack down to a boy (Matthew/MathYou) on the bus. By way of a note.

letter

Samson pretended he was just one of the kids

samson

3rd grade math blew my mind

math

NOW INTERRUPTING THIS POST FOR A PSA: Visiting ottmama.com at work is DANGEROUS

danger

And this still brings me joy

bananahat