D is for Devastated. We lost Bowls the Cat




I intended a post yesterday titled “Crumbsnatcher Tales Book Coming Soon”, but before I could write the post, Bowls the Cat ditched us.  Sweet Pea and Boyfriend2.0 took him to Sonic last night?  Yes, there is a question mark after that sentence.  I know cats like milk, but don’t ya think a Snickers Blizzard is going a little overboard?

They opened the car door to chat with some friends, and Bowls darted out and under the car next to them.  Boyfriend2.0 received kitty-claw lacerations while attempting to coax him from the undercarriage of the vehicle next to them.  Somehow, someone got him and placed him in the driver side of the car and he promptly darted out the passenger side before Boyfriend2.0 could close it.


Now D is for “Devastated.”  But we’re hopeful, and by that I mean I hope I’m not going to be still looking for him by the time we reach H.  I’d prefer to write about him when we get to F for “Found.”   Or maybe a nice G for “Got Him.”

So forgive me if I’m off my funny game today.  I’ll leave you with part of what I intended to post yesterday.  A teaser to “Crumbsnatcher Tales – A Family One Talking Dog Away From a Sitcom.”  Coming this summer.

“Crumbsnatcher Tales – A Family One Talking Dog Away From a Sitcom” takes a humorous look at life in a blended family of five teenagers, three dogs, a cat, and a fish. Mama Bread Baker works to find a recipe for harmony for this family that will produce a blend resembling something other than baby diaper pooh. Mama Bread Baker is old school parenting adapted for today’s blended families. For example, when called an evil stepmother, she gently reminds The Eldest that she’s his biological mother! Her Tennexas wit(her self-dubbed style of writing named such to honor her Texas adolescence and Tennessee living) will have you repeating one of her favorite phrases. “If you can’t beat ‘em…then how the hell am I supposed to learn ‘em?” 

Qualify for a chance to win a free signed copy.  Ten lucky new subscribers in the month of April will receive a copy when released.  Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right to be qualified for a free book when released.

Also if you subscribe, or comment on this blog posting, you may have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”  



Bait and Hook – Outfishing Chief Money Maker.


Snagging a man has everything to do with using the right bait, and little to do with finding a honey hole. And let’s get real. You can always get a man to bite any time of the day.

Whether or not he’s a keeper is totally for you to decide.

Chief thought I was a pretty good catch right up until I out-fished him on our honeymoon. Two days earlier, he’d proudly stood in the receiving line after our nuptials explaining to all who passed that his lovely bride had chosen Lindsey’s Trout Resort in Arkansas for our honeymoon destination.

He thought I’d chosen it because I knew how much he loved to trout fish when I’d actually selected the resort because we’d be out of cell phone range and farther than a shout of “Mom!” away from the crumbsnatchers.

It was the first time he’d misjudged my motives, and if I continue to hone my skills, it won’t be the last.

Point is, we were both happy with the choice for whatever reason. Until the honeymoon disaster began. It started with the simplest of requests of the Wal-mart cashier. “Where’s your beer?”

“You passed it about 45 miles back,” she said, letting me know she’d marked us for tourists–and that apparently they only had one way in and out of this no-beer town.

Chief smiled and told her, “Thank you,” while placing his hand over my mouth before I could say, “You do know prohibition ended, right?”

English: Bentonville, Arkansas: This is the fi...

I know we were in Arkansas but no beer? Really? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Lucky for us, he’d brought along the leftover wine and champagne from our wedding, saving our marriage for at least another 30 minutes. We found our love shack situated on the banks of some twisty river that promised to excite Chief with its trout action. Good thing because I didn’t want to set a precedent for the rest of our prison term blissful years of marriage that would lead Chief to believe he’d be getting a lot of action from me.

As we relaxed on the porch of our love shack, a bat swooped past giving us his best “Top Gun” impression. I hit the deck. Chief, being my newly nuptial-ed protector assured me the bat wouldn’t return.

I was disappointed to learn that my husband of barely 24 hours was a freaking liar. Fifteen seconds later the bat dive-bombed me. Wine glass went flying, arms flailed and I ran into the love shack slinging the sliding glass door shut behind me. When I finally opened my eyes, it was to a vision of Chief on the porch doubled-over in laughter.

The next day, we went fishing. Chief rigged my rod with a red plastic jiggly worm and I was catching trout left and right.

Red Wiggler Worms

Only my worm was plastic. Or just dead. I’m not really sure. (Photo credit: net_efekt)

Big ones, little ones, brown ones, rainbow ones. Chief half-heartedly cheered me on so I decided to let him use his red plastic jiggly worm so he’d stop pouting like a two-year old whose pacifier had been yanked from his mouth. He tossed the line in the water, and at the other end of the boat, I caught Granddaddy trout with the bait he’d been using.

Maybe it ain’t about the bait after all. 😉

An “A” for Effort – Chief Money Maker Tries to Keep Wallet in Pocket



You’d think a Master’s degree would imply a certain level of critical thinking ability that would enable Chief Money Maker to hang onto his wallet. That is until he tries to follow teenage logic or gets married. I’ve gotta give the man an “A” for effort, though.

Chief Money Maker on taking out a second mortgage for a prom dress:

CMM: “She can wear it again next year, right?”

MBB: “No.”

CMM: “But you’ll sell it to recoup the finance charges right?”

MBB: “No. She’ll want to keep it in her hope chest.”

CMM: “I hope those are real gold sequins and that the price of gold doesn’t go down before we have to sell it to make our mortgage–

“Here’s my wallet.”

Chief Money Maker on Sweet Pea’s need for a pedicure before a weekend softball tournament:

CMM: “But no one will see your toes.”

SWEET PEA: “They will in the hotel room.”

CMM: “Here’s my wallet!”

Chief Money Maker on tanning packages:

CMM: “But there are lounge chairs beside the pool I just put in last summer.”

SWEET PEA: “Yeah, but I don’t want to get sunburned.”

CMM: “Here’s my wallet!”

Chief Money Maker on putting in long hours of work:

CMM: “I logged over 12 hours every day this week.”

MBB: “That’s great honey, but 16 would be better.”

CMM: “Why?”

MBB: “8 for you and 8 for me, so I can go shopping for flowers and more wine.”

CMM: “Here’s my wallet.”

MBB Gardens

The Spotlight’s On You! Vol 1:7


As part of “2013 Means Bigger Better Things”, I promised to showcase a blog posting from one reader every week.  (And I broke that promise because I’m working on my book which will be released soon.  But let’s get back on track.)

Here’s how YOU can be featured:

  • Subscribe to my blog
  • Follow @MamaBreadBaker on Twitter
  • Like Mama Bread Baker on Facebook
  • Leave a comment on any of my blog postings


The blog I chose for this week was posted by Opinionated Man over at Harsh Reality where the tag line reads “My goal with this blog is to offend everyone in the world at least once with my words…so no one has a reason to have a heightened sense of themselves.  We are all ignorant, we are all found wanting, we are all bad people sometimes.”

The blog I chose is titled “Women are Crazy.”  I was drawn to the title because, well let’s just be honest here, if you’ve read my blog you know I chose this title because I AM crazy.  Enjoy the read!  

Women are Crazy (The way to lose your female readers)

This is not a relationship blog, but occasionally I will write about and share some revolutionary facts that I discover in my life. Here is one fact that I would love to write about (but not discuss) women are crazy. I would go so far as to say “most” women are crazy and the funny part is they make sense to each other. That really is the kicker, because women can understand the craziness in one another, they then do not consider themselves crazy. Impeccable logic to be sure, it is hard to debate evidence so sound.

Women pick arguments on purpose. The only time men pick arguments on purpose is if we do not like someone, we are drunk, there is a Raider’s fan in the room, or we decide to act macho in front of our woman. Men do not often argue just to argue, do you know why ladies? We are lazy and it is hard to watch Sportscenter AND drink a beer while you argue.  Click here to continue reading…

From Texana’s Kitchen: About A Boy…A Tape Measure…And A Footlong Weenie

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I simply had to reblog this post by Christine Friesenhahn over at Texana’s Kitchen.  It’s a must read, I assure you.

About A Boy…A Tape Measure…And A Footlong Weenie

English: A Stanley PowerLock tape measure.

English: A Stanley PowerLock tape measure. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Never underestimate the importance of knowing your weights and measures.

For Christmas one year, my mother gifted my boys with Home Depot tool boxes, complete with the full range of functional, but small-sized tools.  They each had a hammer, saw, pliers, screwdriver, wrench, level and tape measure.  Most children, when in possession of such items as hammers and saws, would immediately set about harming themselves or property with these tools.  Not my kids.  For my kids, it was the tape measure.

We all know that men get really hung up on the size of their “bits and pieces”, but being from a family full of girls, I had no idea that this obsession begins in boys at such a young age.  When he was in Kindergarten, my youngest informed me that his bits were bigger than Jacob’s bits.  As it turns out, the kindergarten boys were in the habit of conducting side-by-side comparisons.  Nice.

Click here to continue reading…

If I’d Drowned The Crumbsnatchers at Birth, I’d Be Out of Prison By Now!


The teen years are traumatic.  There’s the crying, the mood swings, the feelings of insecurity, the desire to permanently check out of Lifebook.

And that’s when I’m having a good day.

The stress is enough to make even Freud go mad.  Take this  for example:  Sweet Pea’s a teenaged girl.

And by that I mean she’s crazy.

She asked me last week to bring Boyfriend2.0 to her softball game.  Then she sent a text ten minutes after I should have left telling me what time I should leave.  Then she sent another text telling me to come early.  Half-way en route to Boyfriend2.0’s house, she sent another text.

“Don’t come.” 

I called Boyfriend2.0, gave him the scoop, did a U-turn and headed to the house.  Once home, I poured a glass of wine, left it on the counter for Chief Money Maker, grabbed the rest of the bottle and settled down in the recliner just as my phone went off again.

“NVM.  Come.”

I resisted the urge to reply, “Can you chill Sybil?” only because I knew she’d respond with a confused Emoji.

Dazed and Confused

Not an Emoji but sill Dazed and Confused (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Instead I retreated to my favorite hiding spot.  The washing machine.  Trust me, they never look there.

Split Sweet Pea personality aside, we’ve also got another newly-licensed teenaged driver in the house.  And by that I mean our insurance rates have just surpassed the national deficit.

It’s a good thing we live on a corner lot because the streets around our abode look like Harry’s Honda Hacienda, only with less reliable vehicles.

1951 Buick

1951 Buick (Photo credit: Hugo90)

The upside is that with two teen crumbsnatchers out and about on weekend nights, I don’t have to fabricate ways to push Sweet Pea’s curfew up so I can go to bed at 8:30 pm.  Now I feign a headache—instead of admitting my right knee feels like a grenade sporadically exploding because I know CMM will make me go back to Dr. Frankenstein—and leave the watch to him.

Don’t mistake my words for complaining—despite the truth that I am complaining.  Having teenaged crumbsnatchers isn’t all that bad.  As parents of these communication-challenged Cretans, we get fun experiences like debating their anemic critical thinking processes.

“Wolfy, can you run to the grocery store and pick up some milk?”

“Sure, if you give me gas money.”

“You want ME to give YOU gas money to compensate YOU for driving to the store to get milk, which I don’t even drink, in MY VEHICLE?”

“Uhhhhhh, yeah.”

Thank goodness The Eldest has matured to the point that we can hold productive intelligent conversations.  Just the other night he offered great feedback on the cover for my short story, “The Butterfly Wish.”  I felt proud, optimistic, and hopeful.

Right up until he said, “Oh, and you should consider a pen name.  Who names an adult Cheri?”

“Well, I wasn’t an adult when my mother named me!”

“Think about it, Mom.  Would you want to read a book written by Strawberry Johnson?”

“That’s not my name!”

“Ok, so would you want to read a book written by Fruity Thacker?”

“That’s still not my name…but I get it!”

The Crumbsnatchers might not be the brightest baubles on Pinterest, but sometimes…they do make good points.

© 2013 CThacker

Strange Disease Excuses to Use When You Miss Bunco…or Work!


I’ve committed THE cardinal sin among women.  I missed a Friday night Bunco group where I was to serve as a sub, and death was not my reason.  This faux paus shelved my dreams of being inaugurated as the newest member of this elite society.

English: Four coloured 6 sided dice arranged i...

Our dice aren’t colored.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I wish I’d had a better reason for missing, like Dipsomania, but then again most Bunco group members suffer from that anyway.

[Editor’s note:  A complete description of all mentioned diseases is included at the bottom of this post]

The texts started coming in at 7:05 pm.  I didn’t see them until well after 9:00 pm, and then it took almost an hour before I could recover from the embarrassment enough to respond.  During that time, I ran through my options.

I could explain my absence by stating a family member had permanently logged out of Lifebook.  But despite the fact it wasn’t true, I feared living with years of guilt if the person I chose for their untimely demise actually DID demise.  I contemplated putting the blame on a sick crumbsnatcher, but much like the first excuse, I was petrified one would actually get sick.  Then I’d spend the next few days yelling at them to keep their filthy germs in their filthy rooms where they belong.

I browsed strange diseases that might come and go fleetingly, leaving no signs of previous illness.  Saturday Night Palsy wouldn’t do since it was too closely related to Dipsomania.  I couldn’t go with Lanchonophobia because I was pretty sure at least two people saw me munching on carrots at the last Bunco gathering.

Carrot diversity

Carrot diversity (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’d composed a text with an apology and an explanation that I was suffering from Jumping Frenchmen of Maine which could cause me to injure another player.  Plus we’d only have spent the whole night retrieving the dice from the backyard, and who would find that fun?  Chief nixed that excuse pretty quickly reminding me that I was already known in the area as the “Hoochie-Mama who passed out on the bank in her heels at a Catfish Rodeo  at 7:00 am in the morning.”

Yeah, I did that right after a bout with Saturday Night Palsy…on a Friday.

If I were a Downtown Abbey watcher, I could have gotten by with an explanation of Empirism.

“What about Formication?” I asked Chief.

“I’m all for it, but I’m not sure the Bunco group would buy it, since you already hinted in your blog that my night is the first Tuesday of every month.”

“Oh yeah.  Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest in my blog, huh?”

Being the brilliant man that Chief Money Maker is, he finally suggested I go with the truth.  So I did.  I admitted that I’d gotten caught up in my writing and totally forgot that it was even Friday night.  Then I added this text in hopes that I would be given a Tosh.0 chance at redemption:

“And just so you know…As a writer I could have come up with a much better story but thought it best to stick to the truth as lame as it is.”

In hindsight, I should have added that I’d be willing to come next month and the group could give me Slapped-Face Disease.  But then again, I hear it itches like crazy and I just recovered from a bad case of Yeuk.


*Disease Definitions from Inherently Funny


  1. Dipsomania – An uncontrollable craving for alcohol.
  2. Empirism – An awful affliction brought on by watching too much BBC; usually manifests in a British accent and a sudden craving for tea
  3. Formication – A hallucinated sensation that insects or snakes are crawling over your skin.
  4. Jumping Frenchmen of Maine – A sufferer of this disease displays highly exaggerated movements, and tend to leap out wildly. And despite the unusual name, it really exists.
  5. Lanchonophobia – The fear of vegetables.
  6. Saturday Night Palsy – Caused by nerve compression when you pass out in an awkward position.
  7. Slapped-Face Disease – It’s an actual disease. It looks like you have been slapped everywhere, and it itches like crazy.
  8. Yeuk – 15th century Middle English word used by the Scots meaning “to itch”. When not used as a verb, it is may be used to identify a particular sensation, i.e. the irritation of nerve endings in skin or mucous membrane that provokes the desire to scratch oneself silly if alone or look for a speedy exit if one is in mixed company. It’s also a popular name for the parasitic disorder “scabies”