Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Twenty Three:

My husband is a contractor- Namely on helicopters. 

So I get a phone call today, and due to the grace of one of the branches of the military, the production line is through 2021. It was supposed to end here in the next two years or something with the Army helicopters they were doing.

"YAY! for job security.", she exclaims sarcastically, while she wishes she had something to mix with the vodka in the freezer.

Now, I do realize that in the current economic climate, I probably shouldn't be complaining that he's got a job for the next 10 years, unless he kills someone. Right? I know I've said that I imagined staying in Ohio... But being a military wife changed my fabric. It made me crave the nomadic life style we had. Now, shut up those of you who know that we never really left Clarksville, because when he left, I came and went as I pleased- Because up until he actually came home in September, I never really thought he was getting out. I thought he was going to be a lifer. I thought that we'd move every few years and I'd see a bit of the world. I thought he'd get out after his 20, at 39, and we'd then settle someplace that I may or may not hate and get G and L (Because that's all we had at the time), into college.

Instead, we settled someplace that I fucking hate. A place I don't understand. A place that, in all honesty, is to close to my parents. A place that my children are picking up a southern accent. A place that seems to have sucked me in and gives me such cabin fever every Spring and Fall that my skin feels like it is going to crawl off my body. A place that has such HUGE problems and absolute refuses to address them...

And the thought of spending the next 10 years of my life in this city makes me want to vomit.

Can/Should a city make you physically ill?

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Twenty Two:

Sometimes I wonder why the hell I ever had another kid. Two wasn't enough? I needed another screaming asshole to complete my life? Someone to throw orange slices at me, screaming, "That's MY NA-NA (His pacifier)", while using me as his own personalTreadClimber- That is until he reaches the top and can't figure out how to get down. That's when I get a fist/foot/knee in the eye. BUTTTTT, make the mistake of taking him down and we will repeat the cycle again and again and again until I need a shot of Vodka.

Having two that were already potty trained, could make their own lunch, could read wasn't enough... No, I had to have another snuggly bundle of hell that refuses to sleep through the night at 14 months. Allah forbid we with hold that bottle at 2am- Cause if S ain't happy, no one is fucking sleeping.

There are days I wish there was a store that babies actually came from, so I could return him. Mainly, these are the days that start off cute- With him waking me up by screaming, "HEY!!!!" from his crib, and end with mommy in tears, S laughing, G and L locked in their bedroom because they had no idea that this little terror could wreak so much havoc on their lives... And somewhere in the middle of that day there are events like poop in my hair, 30 minutes of playing "Goddamn it, quit hitting print screen! No one needs to see that!", "It's great that you finally learned to pull up, but could you not pull the baby gate down on your head again", "Yummies? You want yummies?" and then Yummies end up everywhere but his mouth, "That's my phone. Not your ball. Let me give you a ball. S, stop pocket dialing Jessica. Seriously child.".

And I know I'm not the only one who feels this way at least once a week. I know I'm not the only one who has days like this with your children... Especially if you have more than one. Once you've gotten one past the milestones that drove you fucking nuts, there comes the next ankle biter to annoy the crap out of you with shit his sibling has never done. It's amazing that we're all not a bunch of bitter alcoholics, honestly.

Recently, I attended a funeral back in Dayton for my Great Aunt. There was some family there that I'd not seen in probably 15 years. Not exactly sure how they are related to me, but close in age and related close enough that it would NOT be socially acceptable to sleep with them unless we were in an Arab country. Everyone was interested in S and my niece P, as well as G and L (But they are older and not as cute)... And we got around to talking about how generally well behaved my kids are.

Now as a mother to a childless couple, there seems to be some need to try to convince them to procreate- Because it's the greatest thing you'll ever do with your life or trying to validate your choices through other people. Look at me. I don't work. I'm a stay home mom. My boys should be the end all be all of my life. Here's the real secret. My life does not revolve around my children. I take care of them. I indulge them. I teach them the things they need to know to be compassionate accepting adults in today's society. I make sure they know they are loved and I would do anything for them, up to and including maim/murder someone for them. But they are not my reason for being. Often I wonder how things for me/me and Dave would have turned out differently if I'd not had G at 19 and L at 21... (Not that I'd give them up for anything, except that little one. I'd like to furlough him at the baby store from time to time.)

But I still found it VERY hard to keep my fucking Collective Mom Mouth (Forever known as the CMM) from saying, "Oh, having kids is the greatest thing I've ever done. It's so fulfilling." What the fuck is wrong with me???

Dude, after the two weeks I've had, tonight's episode of So You Think You Can Dance was the most fulfilling thing in my life.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Twenty One:

It's summer... And you all know what that means for Nichole...

A couple of things actually. 1) The extreme NEED to get the hell out of Kentucky and move to someplace with a beach. 2) The goal of NOT killing my children on a daily basis. 3) Avoiding sunburn at all costs.

It's not that I don't like Kentucky. It's that I hate Kentucky. I really do. I hate it more than I hate peas and creamed corn combined. I hate it more than I hate the word moist. I hate it more than hearing S grind his little chompers together. I hate it.

Would I hate it anywhere? I really don't know. I've lived in a few cities in my life- Dayton, Toledo, the Ft. Campbell, Ky area, and then here in Lexington. I've spent excessive amounts of time in southern Arizona. I would never move back to Dayton- As we covered in the last post, it's to close to my family. Toledo was just a bump in the road, Clarksville TN was a military town, but a place we might end up again because of Dave's career... And after living here, I don't think I'd mind it so much... Or as much as I did.

There's something about Lexington that just makes me want to vomit on a daily basis. It might be the constant smell of horse ass. It might be UK's need to let EVERYONE know how great they are when really it's just Shut The Fuck Up, No You Don't Need A New Arena To Keep Up With Louisville, World Leader In Cancer Researcher My Ass. It might be the entitlement that almost everyone around here seems to have because this place is Oh. So. Great. It might be the fact that no matter how hard I try, I keep ending up with bat shit crazy "Friends" and I want to be a recluse. (I love you guys! LOL)

Or it might just be that when I was growing up, at 28, I never imagined myself living in Lexington fucking Kentucky.

And that might be the basis of it all... I have no issues with being 28, married for 10 years with 3 kids, some college, 9/10ths of a high school diploma, no career, few marketable skills other than teaching a 6 year old "That's what she said" jokes or finding awesome ass deals on diapers. (2 weeks ago- 4 packs of Huggies for 3 bucks each after rewards and coupons. WHAT.) It might just be the broken dream of not living where I imagined living. Thinking back, I probably imagined that I'd be living in the same town I went to school, near my parents and maybe my parents would have changed once I had kids- Which I've just now realized that it's never going to happen.

But why, when I see commercials for 'The Glades' or reruns of 'The Golden Girls' does it make me want to jump out of my skin? Why did leaving Clearwater Beach after only 2 days feel like I was leaving a child behind? Why do I get like this every summer- Until October rolls around and I realize I might miss that changing season and the snow?

Is it possible that only one aspect of your "childhood dreams" of what your life would be like when you became an adult can make you have physical symptoms- Even when, pressed to admit it, you're still waiting to feel like the adult in a situation?

Oh the things I ponder at 11 at night. I think it's time for a Valium. lol

Thursday, June 16, 2011


Explain something to me... And I'm sorry if none of this makes sense. I hope someday it will.

Well, first, let me explain something to you- Dave hates my parents. Not with an all consuming seething passion- We just spent 10 days with them in Florida... But he hates them with this under-bubbling wrath that makes him lash out internally or at me when they surface those feelings he has towards them. He's tired of my father's advice- "Why should I take your advice when you couldn't stop your wife from abusing your daughter"... And he's strait up tired of my mother's bullshit, emotional roller coaster drama she tries to put me on.

I didn't have it great growing up. I was the oldest of 4, with an undiagnosed bipolar mother, a disconnected father, and I took the brunt of my mother because I was the one who was there- Emotionally and physically. I was kicked out at 18, didn't graduate high school because of it, and that's how my life with Dave began. The entire time that I was dating Dave under her roof, my mother swore that Dave would never make anything of himself, never be able to support a family a family, tried to get him arrested, in trouble with the military and fired from a job. (Yeah. I know.) But, honestly, if you met my mother on the street, or at say one of my kid's birthday parties, you'd like her. She's not socially inappropriate in an obvious way.

So- We're in Florida, a trip that Dave and I didn't want to go on due to all the drama with my family leading up to it. (Call me about 100 bucks I borrowed two years ago while you're in the process of buying a house for one of my brothers? Seriously?) But the kids wouldn't go without us, and they really wanted to go-

And while we're down there, the advice from my father starts, and the didacticness of my mother's personality comes out- And she's constantly swinging from my brother's girlfriend to me with who's her new BFF that day... As my mother doesn't see me as a daughter or a family member anymore, and hasn't for 10 years. She sees me as someone that she has to have in her life because my spawn are her grandkids, and I swear to DEITY that sometimes she forgets WHY my spawn are her grandkids. But I digress.

And the comments about how we're overspending our money begin and how they (She) isn't paying for anything extra for us and we're on our own if we run out of money (Mainly because she felt we were eating out to much because we didn't want to eat out of a cooler in the Universal Studios parking lot with them)... And the financial planning advice starts from my father- Again, the man who just bought one of my brothers a home because he couldn't afford his rent. And then the "We'll meet you at X in Y minutes", and 2 hours later no one has shown up- Or the "You have to be out of the hotel room at 11, sorry, we know you wanted to go swimming with the kids again" but what I'm not going to walk down the hotel room hallway to tell you is that I paid 30 bucks for a late check out for one room that you could have taken a shower in and played with them on the beach for a bit longer.

Dave's seething at various points of the vacation. And, with all my issues with my family and my brother's whore, I felt that I handled most things very well- There wasn't much that was going to interfere with my children's enjoyment of Shamu or their 10th time riding Spiderman... Or their first time on a real beach and S just being S.

But after all the hell that we went through- Most of it I can't remember now that I've run it down with my therapist, all the fighting Dave and I did over my parents, and the agreement that we came to about the next when it comes to my family, after my 84 year old Grandparents leave in July... We decided we're done with my family. We're done with the judgement about how we live our lives. We're done with the assumption that because Dave makes above the 50k mark (Barely) that we should be better off financially than we are. (Have you ever been a gov't contractor, Dad? No? Shut the fuck up, then.) We're tired of the comments that we're to hard on our kids because we expect certain behaviors out of them and don't tolerate others, vacation or not. (At least I don't back hand mine every time one of them says something that I don't like, Mom.) I'm tired of S being thrown into the Olympics against his cousin that is 10 months older than him... Well, assholes, let's put her in the Olympics (If you don't know, then ask another mom. Fuck.) against my kids when they were about to turn 2. I can't help it if you don't remember how smart G and L were at that age- But do not give me shit that she was walking at 10 months and S refuses to crawl at a year.

I'm just tired of, still, after Dave and I being married for 10 years, after getting kicked out of the house and the family 10 years ago and trying to get back in various times over the years, that none of what I've done with my kids or that Dave is good enough for them yet. I'm not good enough for them. The way I choose to live my life... Where we choose to live... None of it is good enough...

So, explain it to me, please- Because that's my next row in my head. How do go go about writing out your family?

Wednesday, May 25, 2011


I know, I know. Shoot me.

It's what I do. When the shit hits the wall, I retreat. Away from everyone that might be able or willing to help or listen. I retreat into Dave. I retreat into the kids. I call my therapist in a mad panic of "GET ME IN NOW BEFORE MY BRAIN EXPLODES!!!". I retreat because I know that if I pull one more thing onto my bipolar 2 plate, I will downward into a funk that will require a very large amount of medication to pull me out of. Or liquor. Or both.

It's like this, friends... I can only juggle so many plates at once. The plates I choose to constantly juggle are my kids and that man child I married. They are the ones I never put down. My next choice to juggle are the ones that directly pertain to them- In the past two weeks, it's been another car accident, an epic battle with our health insurance over $700, L switching schools to be with G but then not being able to continue on to 2nd grade because of the interim principle's "philosophical objections" against little boys skipping grades and not wanting to start a precedent at her school and that we'd broken the law by skipping him a grade (Well, he skipped a grade at another school, lady.)... Among the regular day to day annoyances of raising three boys and a man child.

Then, I choose to take on secondary plates- My family, Dave's family, and friends. I can only handle so much bullshit that extends from either of those three areas before I want to fucking snap, and they all fill up the same bullshit jar. My family fills it up relatively fast with intruding and nonsense questions like, "How are you going to come up with the money to fix your car?" or "How much money do you have right now?". Well, being that you just bought one of my siblings a house and you are not, nor have you been actively financing my life in over 10 years, you don't get to ask me those questions. AND, we're all going to Florida together as one huge happy family in about a week. Shoot me in the fucking head now- Hence where all the money questions are coming from. (Lyndsey, I'm probably going to be calling.) Then if I get one more email about some old lady I've never met's sternum, I'm going to scream. Thank's Dave's mom.

And then there's the "friends". And I use that term loosely. I have a few. I've recently met a few nice, non bat shit crazy women. I've started taking part in a playgroup. And then I posted about my issues with the interim principle. (Not the full story about how I grabbed my balls and called the Kentucky Department of Education on her ass, but hey. Let the triffling tattle tale think that I'm just a ranting pissed off mom. I'm ok with that.) And some some pissy bitch decided to send my vent, which wasn't anything that I'd not said to her, her boss, the principle and admin. dean of L's current school, and the head of primary education for Kentucky to the principle in question. It got brought up in a fucking AMBUSH of a meeting, because they thought I'd still be bringing my 2nd child to their school. And then she thought that she'd go ahead and lecture me on internet safety because nothing on the internet is secure.

Let me start off by saying that I was mortified. Not that she read what I wrote. I stand behind everything that I put out in public. I was mortified that someone that I'd never met felt the need to interject themselves into my life in such a way that could have such dire and horrible consequences for L. Secondly, I was pissed for everyone else who posts personal things on the playgroup message's boards. Thirdly, I don't need a fucking lecture on internet safety. I'm not a fucking 12 year old girl. Don't fucking ambush me in front of the soon to be principle because I ran your ass up the flag pole to your boss, your bosses boss, and the State of fucking Kentucky. But again, the trifling bitch who was doing the interim principle a SERVICE by letting her know what I said didn't know the entire story... Or that I'd actually done something about it besides sit on the internet and whine.

Anyway, so long post short... Back to the plates. My arms are short. And if you know me, I make sure that the plates closest to me are the ones that stay up. It's nothing personal. If I don't answer your phone call at 10:30pm, it's because that my insomniac ass is finally trying to sleep. If I don't answer every one of your text messages immediately, it's because I've got so much on every one of those closest to me plates that they come first. They have to. They are my priority and always will come first...

Besides... They are really cute.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Seventeen: Our Eleven Year Anniversary...

Dave and I officially became a couple on April 30th, 2000. I was 17. He was 19. 6 months, to the day later, he left me for basic training. 7 months after that, on May 26th, 2001 we got married. I was 18 and he was 20. 18 months after that, G was born- this perfect little non alien-headed baby. 2 years, almost to the day- and a deployment later, L was born. (My first question when he finally shot out was "What color is his hair?" "Oh it's beautiful, it's red" "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!!" I screamed.). And then 5 years and 8 months later, S was born. Little, sweet, chicken legged S.

This isn't going to be a long post- Just one long enough to say this in my own way.

I haven't always been in love with him. There have been quite a few times where I've downright hated him. There have been times where I've done the life insurance calculation in my head. (If you're reading this and you don't know what the Life Insurance Calculation is, you're in the wrong place.) There have been times where I've intentionally ignored his calls. There have been times where I've wanted to leave him. There have been two times where I've actually left... And then realized that there wasn't enough money in the bank account for me to stay gone for long. We've thrown things, we've screamed, we've locked each other out of the house, I've pushed him out of a moving vehicle (It was only going 5 miles an hour. Shut it.), he left me in the post-partum unit after G was born to go home and get some sleep because he was tired...


But I love my husband. And like the ebb and flow of a marriage and any relationship that's lasted as long as ours has as young as ours started, I am in love with him. No matter what stupid shit he's done on whatever day that's got me looking at him like he's a new level of dumbass I've never seen, (Seriously, today, he put the basket for the ice maker back in the freezer after it's been sitting in the cabinet for two years, without washing it, and then put a bag of ice in it.) he usually does something to redeem himself.

How could I not love him. The man went to war for us because it was the only job he could find. He went to Korea when his children were 2 and a half and 6 months for 18 months because it was the better of the two options- Go for 18 and get out for good or Go for a year, come home for 6 months and go back to Iraq. He worked his ass off in a job he hated for 6 years for a Government he didn't support just to make sure that G, L and I had what we needed- To prove my family wrong about him. After he got out, he worked 4 years in a backbreaking job he tolerated striving for something better for all of us that he finally got- And you know what he said when I congratulated him? "It's no big deal- I do it for you guys.".

And right now, after jumping down his shit for annoying me most of the day, I got hungry, at midnight. You know what he's doing? Out getting the hamburger I couldn't live without.

He's put up with my bat shit crazy ass for 11 years. He gets me. He still laughs at me when I tell him something looks like a penis, even if it doesn't even remotely resemble a dick. He tells me that I'm dumb when I tell him a horrible joke. He acts interested when I tell him that some dumb cunt wore an IUD on her head to the Royal Wedding. He takes the spiders outside.

He's far from perfect. He looks like a cross between the lost member of ZZTop and the missing cast member of a Pirates of the Caribbean Movie... He's caused me to have TWO redheaded children and THREE boys...

But I love him. I do. I love the fucking moron.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Fifteen and 16, all wrapped into one, because I'm doing it at the same time.

Holy Hell.

That's really all I can say.

(As I'm typing this, I'm also watching DVR'd Royal Wedding coverage, so excuse the interjections. She's got a cracked rib? But she refuses to miss the wedding? What a fucking trooper.)

I finally got tired of hearing Dave bitch. He had 5 fillings done about 6 months ago. He told that god damn piece of shit dentist that the tooth was bothering him, but they told him it was fine. And it kept bothering him. (Awwww, her mom isn't a cunt and trying to upstage her daughter! I'm impressed!) I made him go to Urgent Care. They gave him anti-biotics. He got better. Started bothering him again. He bitched and moaned for about 3 weeks.

Now. I can NOT stand it when a grown fucking assed man who spent a year in a war zone and then 18 months in Korea and somehow managed to make it through surgery on his own can't pick up the phone and handle something as easy as making a dentist appointment. I can't comprehend how it doesn't cross his mind. I don't understand how everyone of those aircraft he has a part of inspecting doesn't fucking crash- Because if he is anything at work like he's at home... Well you see where I'm going with this.

Finally, I broke down and called another dentist who bailed me out of a jam earlier this year. They got him that afternoon. Great. (God, the British don't age well. Is it me, or do they tend to start looking like frogs after the age of 60? Maybe it's because they start losing their teeth. Shitty dental care there, too) The tooth that had been bothering him was almost completely abscessed. Root Canal/Crown or pull it. Now, we have GREAT dental insurance, but it still cost us 200 bucks. Obviously, he opts for the Root Canal/Crown option. Otherwise, we'd be heading for divorce court. I refuse to be married to a man who doesn't have all this teeth- Real or otherwise. I might live in Kentucky- But I refuse to look like we live in Kentucky. LOL

Anyway, now I shouldn't be bitching about 200 bucks out of pocket for 1300 of work, but I'm pissed that we have to spend it when it should have been a simple filling 6 months ago. So, he goes back the next day. (Really, Camilla... Should you REALLY be there? T-A-C-K-Y. I don't care if you're married to his father or not. The British are so much politer than I am. HOLY SHIT SARAH FERGESON'S CHILDREN.  WE COULD PLAY SKEE-BALL THROUGH YOUR HEAD PIECES. One of them looks like an ornate toilet seat. Not to mention that you look like a common 5 dollar whores- The kind you pay 5 dollars to go away. FUCK.)

3 hours in the chair. They can't finish it. Has to go back Thursday. Thank god he spent Wednesday night home, because I came down with a combination of Ebola/Aids/The Plague/Pregnancy/Death. I was up all night puking up my toenails. (All white/ivory wedding party? Bold choice... And for 85 years old, she is rocking that yellow like a 20 year old.- I'm not all bitter and angry. LOL) And the entire time that I'm up on Wednesday night puking up my toenails, he's whining like a little bitch about how bad it hurts

Well you stupid asshole, had you called the dentist before now, maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Yeah. It makes me a bad wife. I don't have sympathy when you continously do stupid things with the same result, expecting the result to change the next time you procrastinate. Not that he wasn't helpful to me on Wed, but still. It's a never ending cycle

So he's back at the Dentist on Thursday, another 3.5 hours in the chair. Comes home at 7pm. "OWWWWWWWW, It hurtssssssssss...." Really? Great. (Ok, I've seen the dress on CNN before this, and it's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful... And how she managed to keep it a secret until now? Amazing.) "I'm hungryyyyyy." Really, buddy?

And then I start puking again. And then he realizes that it's not all about him, because he can stand up without falling over or throwing up. And he mans up and takes care of everything else for the night, while I laid on the couch. (Needs bigger flowers. Not bigger than your head, but smaller than your fist? Come on.) He took the kids to school for me today, too. Big improvement over what would have usually happened.

So the question I pose is this: How do you make a 30 year old man FINALLY realize it's not all about him? Mothers know that sometimes we have to work through the pain and just do what we need to do, where as men come down this a freaking sniffle and it's like they are going to die on the rack while being boiled in hot oil? (Longest. Isle. Ever.) I do realize that it's a little late in the marriage to try to sleep train the man now, but shit. I'm tired of feeling like the only adult in the house most of the time. (Oh, no wonder the chairs were turned that way. They can't see the actual ceremony anyway. LAME. Could you imagine being one of those people stuck in the corner? I'd be watching it live on my iPhone Via my BBC App just so I could see what I was hearing!)

And just now, after watching him take his pain meds, and asking him if he needed to take them to work with him, getting told no, I get a text that said, "Did I leave my meds at home?" "Yes. I asked you if you needed them, and you said no." "I thought I put them in my lunchbox." "Reread my last text. That makes NO sense.".

No, dummy. I asked you that as you had them in your hand. How could they be in your lunchbox if they were also in your hand? Did they have sex and have little lortab and amoxicillian babies? I swear to god, if I weren't around...

Except I know that he can do it. He has done it. So either he reverts to childhood, or just gets lazy. And I'm not sure what pisses me off more.

So the rest of this will be about the Royal Wedding
Aw... He told her that she looked so beautiful. Stop whispering, you too! It's almost to cute, making me want to vomit again. Giggle. So much hope. Wait until he needs a fucking root canal and won't call the dentist himself.

I always want someone to stand up and scream "NO KATE, YOU CAN'T MARRY HIM!!! YOU'RE CARRYING MY BABY" or "NO WILLIAM!!! YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED THAT COW LIKE NOTHING YOU'D EVER SEEN BEFORE!!!"... But it never happens that way. Just someone coughing at at the most inopportune time, getting my heart all aflutter.

I think Kate's dad forgot his line, "Her mother and I".

I can totally understand him not wearing a ring. He can't wear it at work. It's annoying, they get lost. We've lost to many to count. Not worth it. And honestly... Does it matter? It's not like anyone in the free world isn't going to know 2 things. 1) He's Prince Fucking William Something Something Luis. B) He just got married in a 34 million dollar wedding ceremony. 3) He's probably going to Leap Frog over his father for the British Crown. While it might seem like a wingman all in itself, I'm going with it's probably the greatest birthright, cockblock ever. When 2 billion people watch your wedding, your cheating days are a bit numbered.

The way this priest is holding his hands up is making me think he's going to crack their skulls together.

So, they are married now. Are they going to watch the remainder of their ceremony as spectators? Church of England weddings are confusing. I'm waiting for them to bring out slaves and lions. Wait. Then this bitch is yawning. You're personally invited to the social event of the century and it's boring you. Send your invite to me so I can comment from the actual Abbey and not couch quarterback it while Shane's screaming at me about not being able to pull all the laundry out of the basket.

That nun with the white hair is sleeping. I'm having a hard time staying awake through this guy's reading, too.

Shane likes Boys Chamber Choir music... I think he's faking me out to make me think he likes the music so he can turn the Xbox on and off.

Oh wait, they are standing up again. But that Nun is still sleeping. ^5 to her, I suppose. I guess when you've lived that long, you are allowed to sleep through whatever the hell you want to, right?

I guess when you are the Queen, you don't have to sing "God Save the Queen.".

Ok, is it just me, but does William occasionally look like a Chester?

Honestly, they look happy... Really happy in comparison to Charles and Di... I'm not a romantic-y, dream of being a princessy girl, but ya gotta hope that they can make it under all the public pressure... Or hope that he's better at hiding his 40 year affair.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011


Now, we had been without cell phones for almost 4 years. The last phone I owned was a Samsung Blackjack. I notoriously had gotten phones from AT&T that wouldn't work properly or would be afflicted with every known issue, or just wouldn't work after they sent it to me. Once, people would call me and the calls would be routed to some woman's house in Cincinnati, Ohio. They couldn't reproduce the problem, but her home number was the same as my voice mail land line number. (It's not free to call your voice mail. Your voice call goes to a land line number. It's the voice mail platform number. You've been educated.) So I had to change my phone number.

Anyway, way back in 2007 or some shit, I started having issues with that phone and got a few replacements. I sent all the phones back like I always had. One day, I opened up my bill, and it was for 1600bucks or some shit. WTF, indeed. Well, they never received any of the equipment and couldn't track it by any of the tracking numbers THEY had given me which means it never got scanned by the warehouse which means I never mailed it which means I had to pay for it. Full price. 3 of them at 500 a pop.

Um. No.

I still owe My Nemesis like 1600 bucks. Says them. Every time I get a bill, I dispute it. I will dispute it until the day I die.

Credit. Who needs it?

Fast forward. Dave starts working for Lockheed. Discounts of epic proportions- With whom, you ask? Of course, it would be my old nemesis, AT&T. But he almost needs a phone for work now and I've turned into this playgrouping, birthday partying, playdating, soccer mom version of myself that I don't understand but frankly, I get tired of getting lost in this god forsaken fuck hole. Yes. It's a circle. I know. Find a spoke and get on it. They will take you to New Circle or downtown. But if you're not familiar with the roads to the spokes or downtown... God forbid I try to venture OUTSIDE of Lexington like I did for a birthday party the other weekend.


Anyway, so we start this process by trying to see how much all this would be costing us monthly by setting up a plan online. Entering our information, trying to see if we have a deposit. BOOM- We've got a refurbished phone ordered. Ok. Now, I don't know about you, but yes. I accidentally ordered a cellphone from my nemesis. So great. We decide to go down to the store and get the account set up properly with two phones... Because some how we went from one free phone that would get passed back and forth to 2 iPhones and data plans and text messaging and OMGMYHEADISGOINGTOEXPLODE.

We go to the store. Get the phones. Get cases. Get the account set up the way we think it's supposed to be set up until we get the accidental phone (God, it sounds like a pregnancy that you don't know what to do with at this point, doesn't it?) And things are great. We download apps and ring tones and Angry Birds and blah blah blah. We get the accidental phone, take it back to the store, get the line canceled... And think and are reassured that everything is fine, once Dave's discount is applied everything will be great, the first bill will be like a hundred bucks. (Massive discount.)

But then the bill comes. And it's like $400 bucks. And I'm having PTSD flashbacks of wanting to strangle My Nemesis' customer service representatives that require deep breathing exersizes to keep from murdering someone or committing Hari Kari with a plastic spoon. I call them.

"I see you're one of our valued iPhone customers, we'd like to thank you for being with Your Nemesis." (Bitch, you're going to wish you, me or both of us wasn't with My Nemesis in about 2 seconds.)
"So, we canceled this line yesterday, but I got my bill and on the automated service it's still telling me that the amount due is the same. Someone's messed something up, again, and it needs to be fixed before we're not your valued iPhone customers anymore.".
"Well let me look into that for you... Oh I see, you canceled a line outside your 30 day Buyer Remorse Period. You're liable for all the charges used on the phone plus the activation fee."
"We didn't use the phone. We didn't activate the phone. We didn't open the box the phone came in."
"Well, I can wave those charges for you, but you're still going to have to pay the activation fee."
"For what?"
"Activating the phone."
"We didn't activate the phone."
"But you would have had to have returned the phone in 3 days to not have paid the activation fee."
"So who's job is it to tell us that. The interwebz? The mailer in the box we didn't open because our intent was to return the phone unused or Customer Service's after we called Customer Service and couldn't cancel the phone? The guy at the store?."

(Now, folks. I worked for 2 years in Sprint Call Centers. The thing I hate MOST is people not wanting to do their jobs. You are there to do one thing and do one thing well. Satisfy the customers you come into contact if you can, if they have a verifiable and just issue with their account. This woman did NOT want to do her job. She wanted to keep her average call time down. Don't give me shit for giving her shit for making her do her job.)
"Ok, well ma'am, I'll go ahead and wave that fee for you as a one time courtesy, but please know that next time you need to return the phone with in 3 days to avoid paying an activation fee."
"You know what, don't even bother. With our corporate discount, we don't pay activation fees anyway. No skin off anyone's teeth."
So she goes in and waves all the fees associated with the Pregnancy Line. Then she finds another problem.


"Well ma'am, I just noticed that when the store canceled your line, they didn't cancel it as a Buyer's Remorse, so you're going to be charged a 350 ETF."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously. My Nemesis is the reason we went without cellphones for 4 years and give me time to port my number back out, and I'll go without one again, so help me."
"Well, let me call the store to verify you returned the phone..."
"Well, can you hold while I call the store..."

45 MORE minutes of my life wasted on the phone with My Nemesis. Thank you Whatever is out there that I can talk and text at the same time... Dave got some relatively amusing texts about firebombing My Nemesis.

But anyway, send me your number. We'll text. I have UNLIMITED TEXTING!!!!! Until I get pissed off enough to cancel this fucking thing. Or throw it through a wall. Or at Dave... Which I'm pretty close, because the GPS on it got us into a car accident.


But the 50% off accessories KINDA makes up for it. KINDLE CASE here I come!!!!!



Ever have one of those weekends that make you wish you could just fall off the face of the planet? One of those weekends that absolutely everything went wrong and you forgot to bring your benzos to get through the moment when you wanted to choke a cop? One of those weekends that you just have to (Sorta) laugh when it's over and hope that your kids remember that you laughed at it- In turn, giving them coping skills?

On Friday, I had been out most of the day. On my way from picking up Garret, I sent Dave a text. "Make sure Liam's dressed. I'm taking them out after we drop you off at work.". "All he has to do is put his shoes back on." "He needs socks, too.".

Get EVERYONE in the car, get Dave to work, have a few more errands to run before we go to Kids Place... But I happen to ask Liam, "Do you have socks on?" "No." Of course he doesn't. Why doesn't he? Because his father is absolutely useless when it comes to anything but a Blackhawk 97% of the time. (The ONLY reason I keep him around- He does laundry.) After I get done buying socks for the kids, it's entirely to late to drive across town in rush hour traffic to go to Kid's Place and then make it back on time to pick up Dave. Disappointed kids. Bribe them with Chick-Fil-A and massive cupcakes. We all know I'm not above bribery.

Pick Dave up. Go to Buy Buy Baby to look at a new umbrella stroller... I shouldn't say umbrella stroller, because these things are the size of mini strollers, but have the price tags of full size strollers. 189 for an umbrella stroller? Bring it on, bitch. Although, I'm a firm believer in "You get what you pay for". I'm also tall. I don't want to buy a 10 dollar stroller from Wal-Hell and spend the next two days before it breaks using it hunched over like Quasimodo with tits and better hair.

Now, I don't know what happened to the husband I married who deferred all baby making purchases to me, but he wasn't there Friday. We spent over an hour in Buy Buy Baby arguing over the pros and cons of three strollers. OVER AN HOUR. If he had just gone with the one I wanted, we could have been out of there in 10 minutes. But no, we had to do that bullshit compromise thing. And the stroller we settled on is great. If you don't have to take it off pavement or relatively level grass. But it's an umbrella stroller. You can only expect so much out of a 150 stroller. Right? Or maybe I'm just nuts.

Saturday. Oh Saturday, how I want to kick you in the teeth. Wake everyone up... It's SCIENCE CENTER DAY!!!! Apparently it's also "Thunder Over Louisville Day", but I had no idea about all that noise. So we get up, get going down there, start following the GPS on the phone... And all of a sudden there's blocked streets and traffic. WTF. Then we start seeing signs for parking. Some dude was renting his driveway for 30 bucks a car. So we're all like... Hmmmmm Following the GPS, and it tells us to turn right. We turn right. We get hit in the ass end of our car. By a city employee. A city employee who went strait through a right turn only lane.

Fuck me. Well, because every cop this side of the Ohio River is at Thunder Over Louisville, it took 2, yes 2... TWO, hours to get a cop out there. We stood outside and sat in the car for 2 hours with the boys in the car while everyone and their cousin drove by us, almost hitting us multiple times trying to cut each other off. We had a one stop and ask "Is there a reason that this car is parked here?", to which I responded, "This is where we've decided to watch the Air Show... After we had an accident." That was the 2nd stupidest statement/question I've ever heard from a cop. The first was when we dialed 911 for a car fire, they sent a cop. (Why not an firetruck, Who the fuck knows. They did the same thing to a friend who was giving birth on her porch. Fucking Clarksville, Tn.) He looked at our car and said, I shit you not, "Yup, you got a fire under thur..." and radioed for a fire truck.

So when he did finally show up, he stood by some sheriffs and talked to them for 40 minutes before coming over and taking our "Statement". 3 hours after this dumbshit hit us, the cop comes back to us and says, "It's probably not such a good idea to go to the Science Center today.".


Tuesday, April 12, 2011


We've had a week. We really have. Not the good kind of week but not the bad kind of week- Just the kind of week that makes you wonder why you had kids at all.

Dave and I finally bought cellphones, after 4 years of not having them. Probably wasn't the best decision, because all G and L want to do is play Angry Birds. If I get woken and asked if they can play Angry Birds at 6am one more time, I might end up in jail for killing one of them.

G has finally gotten his act together at the new school and he's doing wonderfully. He loves his new class, wants to do school work again, and is just overall happy... And it's a great thing to see from the kid who was eating furniture earlier in the year to relieve stress. I really don't have much to say about G since his issues have mostly been worked through. I do need to haul his little happy ass back to the kid head shrinker, though...

S is still refusing to crawl. 10 months, 10 days, and the little fatty is happy scooting his ass across the floor while sitting upright. It's comical. He's trying to pull up, but... Well, I'm fine with him not crawling. I'm lazy. I don't want to have to childproof this bitch. Parts of my house look like they belong in an episode of Hoarders.
This is what my computer desk looks like AFTER I spent 20 minutes cleaning it off earlier today. 
How baby inappropriate is that? As we all know, I realize my inadquecies in life- Keeping my computer desk clean is one of them. Anyway, the longer he doesn't walk or pull up on shit, the longer I don't have to worry about Natural Selection taking out my baby. I do figure if he's not smart enough not to pull the coffee cup with candy canes down on his head, he's probably not smart enough to get by in 2028 (When he turns 18). Also, I type this as he's actively trying to to a bottle of Febreeze air freshner that's on the coffee table. He'll only do it once, right?

Nah, he's one of my kids. Probably at least 4 times.

And L... L is going to be the death of me. Mark my words. Put me on Take bets. I'll leave whomever wins my computer desk, everything included. Now, he's skipped Kindergarten this year. He wants to skip 2nd grade next year. Honestly, if he really tried, he could do it. He's S M A R T, smart. (Not really bragging... It's just the truth.) But because he's so freaking smart, he knows exactly how to entertain himself while he's supposed to be doing homework for 4 hours. Sharpen pencil. Make trapezoids out of extra pencils. When mom walks by the kitchen, pretend I'm writing something. Poke holes in my eraser. Stare at the ceiling and pretend that it's constellations. Sharpen pencil again. Smack myself in the head with my pencil a few times. Stand up. Sit down. Stand up. Sit down. Color pencil topper with most annoying pencil ever. Sharpen pencil again. The kid lives in his own world and he's the ruler, regardless of what mom says.

Homework is usually a chore. Not because it's hard for him, but because it's easy peasy and he already knows how to spell most of the words given. So, for 4 hours yesterday and then a while today, the above was repeated until the twisted all the graphite out of his pencil. Why did this make me so angry, you ask?

1) I'm fucking nuts. 2) It was a specially ordered $.89 pencil for left handed people from with hard graphite. Wouldn't smear but damn, it was a bitch to erase. I buy PACKS of pencils for a dollar.

Then, I noticed he'd not done a THING on his homework again. Now, we've told him MULTIPLE times that he either gets his head in the game or we're holding him back. That's his worst nightmare. That's even worse than the nightmare where bees were pulling off his arms and legs. Worse than the one where Daddy was eating him. On the top ten things he doesn't want to do in his lifetime, repeating 1st grade is number 1.

So, in one of my finer moments of parenting, I grabbed his homework, tore it up and threw it away, as he was shrieking his little 6 year old head off. No homework means no lunch bunch (Where they get to eat in the classroom on Friday/Monday) or recess on Friday. No homework means failed spelling test. Failed spelling test means home consequences. There's a lot of reasons for this, but the main one boils down to this: I refuse to let my children be stupid, regardless of the state of the US Education System.

After talking to Dave, I talked to Liam. He's going to write his teacher a note that says why he's not got homework and why his mom tore it up. I told him that he's got the rest of the year to prove to me that he belongs in 2nd grade and not in 1st again, because going to 1st grade again would be very boring for him, more boring than it is now. (As he said.)

Then he told me I was ruining his life. I told him that he doesn't know what a ruined life is until he has a child like himself. He laughed at me because he understood what I was saying.

He laughed because he's ruining my life.

And my world spins madly on.

Thursday, April 7, 2011


To understand this post, you have to understand how I feel about women:

I don't like us. We're crazy, catty, bitchy, psychotic people who will do all kinds of things to you in the name of friendship. I find it creepy that if you spend enough time with women, our periods sync up- Because we all need to be popping out kids at the same time... So we can all be bedraggled, hormonal, exhausted crazy ass bitches together.

I know, if you're a vagina reading this, you've noticed what happens when you get a group of moms who do nothing but mother together. You have your First Time Moms, your Better Than You Because We Only Eat Organic and My House Is Meticlous Moms, your Homeschooling Moms, your 2nd (Or more) Moms Who Still Seem to Be On It Like White On Rice...

And then you have me. My type of mom. The one that forgets to bring the sunscreen. The one that feels that if we're at a park, fruit snacks and pretzels are an acceptable lunch and if you bitch, I'm taking that away. The one who tells her son that she's going to knock the smart ass out of him and does it in public. The mom who realizes that her job isn't to impress the rest of the moms because she's not going to EVER impress any of them, but still hasn't figured out how to fit in with them either- Because she's going bat shit crazy day in and day out.

So I spent the day in public (GASP) at an outing with a playgroup that I'm still kind of dipping my toes into the water (Please reread the line about figuring out how to gracefully fit in with the moms that I find hysterical). I'd had an extremely bad experience with a playgroup here in Lexington in the past, so on top of my normal reservations, I'm also concerned that someone is going to start telling people something like... I'm leaving my kids home alone at night to score percocet.

So anyway, we show up, and G and L were off. They don't care what age the kids they are playing with are, they just like to play. S and I sat with some of the other moms. S played with some other babies his age, moms talked...

And as I was sitting there listening (And mostly talking), it kind of hit me- There's really no reason to be judgmental of anyone's parenting style. Obviously, you're going to gravitate who believe in the same sort of things and raise their children the same way you do... But just because I feed S peanut butter on a regular basis and you don't doesn't make me a bad mother- It makes me a mother who's made different choices than you. Just because you coddle your child to the point that I want to smack both of you doesn't make you a dumbass (Ok, maybe a little), but you've made different parenting choices than I have. It doesn't make me white trash that I tell my kids to go play or I'm going to bury them in the back yard as much as it makes you an uppity bitch for rolling your eyes at my comments.

Because someone does something that you would NEVER do doesn't make them a bad mother. It just makes them a mother. Neither of us have to like the choices that we've made individually, but at least show a little respect for the fact that we're both doing the best we can because the manual to the ankle biters is still stuck in the uterus.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


Being that S is so much younger than the other two, I forget how amazing it is when he learns something that I take for granted with G and L. And how sad I get when I realize that my last baby really is almost a year old.

Yesterday, I was changing his diaper, and he rolled over and was reaching for a toy. I asked him, "What are you trying to get little man...?". To my total and utter fucking shock, he said, "Ball.". I thought maybe it was a fluke, so a few minutes later I took the ball from him, held it out of his reach and said, "What's this?" and he said, "Ball.".

Now, for those of you that are thinking that it's really early for him to be speaking, I absolutely agree. But he's been babbling with intent for 4.5 months now. He started saying DaDa at 5 months. When he realized that Dave was responding to it, he started screaming DADA whenever he wanted to picked up, was hungry, wanted to be played with... When he was hospitalized in Feb of 2011, he started with MAMA... And when the nurses were holding him down for IV sticks, he would be screaming MAMAMAMAMAMA at the top of his lungs. If Dave's holding him and he wants me, he will reach for me and say, "MAMA".

I remember G and L's first words like they were yesterday- Because it meant the beginning of a new relationship with my children. All that talking to them (Or possibly myself. Remember, it was a lonely time for me. LOL) turned them into verbalizing little things. G's first word was Cookie, as he was staring at the top of the fridge, where the Biter Biscuits were kept. L's first word was Monkey, while reaching for his most prized toy as a toddler.

At 17 months, G was commanding us to draw happies, sads, shakies, copters, airpains, nakes... Happy Faces, Sad Faces, Guitars, Helicopters, Airplanes and Snakes every place we went- Every time he could find a Magna-Doodle.

By 2, G and L knew all their letters and numbers by sight. When I took them for their 2 and 4 year well babies, I had the ever present Magna-Doodle, and was entertaining L with drawing letters and having him tell me what letter it was- The Dr said that there was no way that an almost 2 year old (He was 22 months) could know all his letters and numbers 1-10 by memory and I must be doing them in order. I handed him the "Coulie" and told him to try. L nailed every letter, and G nailed every sound. I guess I should have known I was in for it then with those two... The Dr warned me that he'd never seen another child in his 15 years of practicing medicine do something like that.

Anyway, I guess the long way to the short point is this: I love that S's talking before he's crawling. I love that he has such a strong attachment to Mom and Dad. I love that the milestones that are coming first are the ones that are so important to Dave and I... Because we love talking to our kids. We love the things our kids say. We love joking with them. I love the mindless babbling of a toddler as he's watching his favorite Gabbas...

But at the same time- I didn't get to savor G and L's "Growing Up" like I get to S's... And now that I'm realizing how much I actually missed by being sick and Dave being out of the country so much...

And this is going to be the hardest thing for me to admit to date, publically...

I feel like I failed G and L. I feel like I have to fit 3 first years of life into one child. Because of the issues with schooling the other two, I feel like I'm missing out on so much time of those three first years crammed into one. I feel like I have a stronger attachment to S over G and L. Not a favorite child thing, but an attachment.

Extreme Mommy Guilt. I realize that I have done the best I could with the situation that I was given at the time... But it doesn't make it any less hard remembering some of the days...

And being that it's all this ball of emotion rolled into one- The joy of watching my baby grow up, but knowing that the time is entirely to short, the fact that my other two grew up to fast due to situations that we had NEVER planned for...

Just have to take it as it comes, right?... Because the world will spin madly on...

Monday, April 4, 2011


My boys are relatively well behaved... Relative to what, you ask? A Hurricane. (I was going to make a tsunami joke, but even I felt it would be to soon.)

Sunday night is Game Night- Because of the shitty shift that my husband refuses to stop working, our family time is at a minimal. Honestly, I think he plans it this way.

Game night goes something like this. "What are we playing?" "UNO!" "KERPLUNK!" "NO OPERATION!" "NO SORRY SILDERS!!!", All in one single scream that sounds like it's coming from the same person. Which obviously causes S to pull a "WTF" scream- Which in turn causes one of the three cats to become terrified and run into the kitchen/bathroom/basement and immediately begin to vomit. At least they do it on tile.

So we pick Kerplunk, and G thinks he's being sneaky and putting the sticks in so only he's going to win... He's giggling like a little bitch, thinking he's got it in the bag. L's hogging all the marbles to put in the tube. Argument ensues, S starts screaming again, another cat bolts out of the living room.

Now's when I decide it's time to get out the water bottle to spray any offenders. It's better than slapping them on the nose with an newspaper, right? The newspaper would probably be more effective.

Kerplunk starts. The rule is that you have to hand your sticks to daddy so he can put them away. Instead of putting them away, he starts using them as Walrus teeth. Boys immediately voice opinions that range from "GROSSSSSSS" to "LET ME TRYYYYYYY"... Great. Thanks Dave. Dave gets sprayed. Finally, someone pulls a stick that marbles fall. Of course it has to be L. Now, I've commented on his reaction to losing board games before.

He gets sprayed in the face. He laughs. Meltdown averted. G starts begging to be sprayed. I tell him no. His turn. He pulls a stick- His own "sneaky stick". "AWWWW CRAPPPPPPPP!!! I forgot about it!!!". We're laughing at him. He throws a marble. He gets sprayed right in the nose. Hilarity insues.

On to Uno. Calm game, right? OHHHHHH NOOOOO. See, G and L often try to see what cards the other has to help mommy and daddy keep the game going. "HE'S LOOKING AT MY CARDS!!!!" "NO I WAS LOOKING AT HIS BUTTTTTT". Really? That's what you're going to tell me?

Things like this keep happening for an hour and eventually the evening starts to calm down... But then I got a butt pointed at me and told that L was going to fart on me. I told him that if he did, I'd plug his butt and then tape him to the bed.

Little fucker went and got the duct tape for me.

Sunday, April 3, 2011


Yeah, yeah, I've not been around much. Sue me.

I'd much prefer if you'd shoot me right now. Why? Spring Break. Now, I know I'm not the only mom who dreads spring break as much as she looks forward to it. 5 days in a row of not having that god awful hour long commute twice a day? Hm... What else... I think that's about it. 5 days in a row of hearing, "Mom, we're bored.". 5 days of having to feed them more than once a day. (They get their own breakfast, eat lunch at school and I make dinner. Best. System. EVER.) 5 days of getting asked every 20 seconds, "Can we wake Daddy up."...

I expect my head to fully explode by Wednesday.I almost wish that I'd still be alive if my brain were to explode though... Because I'd want to see what G and L do with that mess... "You clean it up." "No, mom said YOU clean it up." "You dummy, mom's dead." "Oh, well then we'll leave it for dad and tell him S did it.".

Entertaining them was easier when they were younger. We'd pop in a Wiggles DVD and watch it or play "Come on, Meow Meow Meow" (Which is exactly what it sounds like. Crawling around the floor like cats.)... But now they want me to come outside and get my fat ass on the trampoline and play Super Mario Galaxy Vs. Ironman where I get to be the bad guy who's constantly getting up and down or jumping around to get away from the various Mario Items they are throwing at me. Gravity. friends. Gravity.

Or board games... Fuck, I hate playing board games with these two. G's at the cheating stage, and L's still at the state that everything causes a Threat Level Midnight meltdown. G cheats, L screams. L loses, G laughs, L throws a hissy fit. S laughs at L for throwing hissy fit, because honestly, WTF does S know. He's 10 months old. He thinks his brothers are hysterical... Which causes L to do this Gorilla type move that I'll to my best to explain.

He stands up or gets on his knees, femurs extended. He bows out his chest. He straitens this arms and points them behind him at a 45 to 90 degree angle, depending on his level of rage. He will then take in a huge amount of air, and hold his breath until the veins in his forehead and neck pop out and then start growl/screaming at us. Sometimes it comes out as a screech.

Not all this causes Dave and I to laugh more which makes L even more upset...

I take them to a park, and I hear, "We're hot." "We're hungry." "We're thirsty." "We're afraid of aliens abducting us."...

So really, is it so wrong of me to want to duct tape them to their beds for the next 5 days? (I say this as S is screaming at me for not paying attention to him...)

I'm going to need many very large rolls of duct tape.

Monday, March 28, 2011


Took a nap after taking G to school. S didn't wake up until 10. Walk in his room to get him- and S and his crib are drenched in pee. Clean up the baby, walk into the bedroom, kick the husband. "Did you change the baby before you put him down this morning?" "No." "Fuck you. It's not like I've not asked you to do that 10 times because he keeps waking up wet."

Now, before you all get upset because I'm waking up my husband about an unchanged diaper... Let me explain. He works nights. He gets home around 1am. He plays PS3 until S wakes up. Sometimes S wants to play. Sometimes S wants to sleep. Dave stays up until about 7am, playing Playstion, AngryBirds, watching TV, porn or whatever, gets the kids ready for school and then goes to sleep until 2. He gets up and leaves for work at 3. So yes. I'm pissed about an unchanged diaper... What else does the mother fucker have to do during those 6 hours? He's not solving world hunger or the global economy, FFS. Occasionally, I get lucky and he will pick up the living room or vacuum.

And that's when he expects the panties to fly off.

Anyway, so when he woke up for real, I told him that if I ever woke up to find the baby putting a toy that was covered in pee in his mouth because Dave didn't feel like changing a diaper, I was going to pelt him in the head with pee covered items and spray him with ice water until he got up and cleaned up the mess...

I know, it's not rocket surgery. I know, we all have gripes about our significant others- But I think that changing a diaper isn't to much to ask, is it?

Saturday, March 26, 2011


There's something to be said about trying to raise responsible children... And how much of a pain in the ass it really is.

For example. Before G transferred schools, he lost a library book. I told him he needed to find it before he went to the new school. I told him he needed to find it before he went to Library at the new school. I told him that he needed to find it. I guess he thought that he was going to be sneaky (Because he usually does. If he thinks he can get away with it, he will try) and check out Library books. Well, the systems between schools are connected, little man. No new books for you.

Now, in our house, there is a list of things mommy doesn't find. Shoes, Library books, Coats, and toys/toy parts. He comes home yesterday and looks and searches and tears his bedroom apart looking for it. Can't find it. Comes out and tells me he can't find it and I can see he's debating about telling me he thinks that I threw it away- He's weighing the option of the get out of jail free card vs. the mommy flying into a rage at him losing someone else's property. He takes the risk. Tells me that I might have thrown it away when I went Storm Trooper on their bedroom a few weeks ago and got rid of 5 lawn bags full of crap.

I give him the look. He's terrified. He's pathetic looking with his mohawk, and I see tears welling up... But I concede his point. Relief. But then mommy drops the bomb- I'm not paying for it. He is going to. "Well, how am I going to pay for it?" "Work."

You know that slow motion moment in 'A Christmas Story' when Ralphie drops the lug nuts and yells "OH FUCKKKK"... Well G had one of those moments internally. But if he's anything, he's smart. To avoid the lecture, he said, "Can I go clean our room all by myself to pay for it?" "It will pay for some of the book. I don't know how much the book is worth, but it's worth more than one job."

'A Christmas Story' moment flashes across his face again... And he can tell it's about to only get worse for him. I proceed to tell him that if he does a half assed job or tells me he's done before he's really done, it's going to deduct from the money that he would have earned for the job. (Doing things correctly the first time is a big lesson in our house too.)

But in the end, he did it, without any complaints, without any half assedness, without telling me it was done when it wasn't...

So I'm proud of my G. He's struggled quite a bit lately emotionally and physically... But he's rebounding and realizing that if he just does it the way it's supposed to be done the first time... His life is much, much easier.

Now, why can't the rest of us learn that lesson?

Friday, March 25, 2011


So, I fall out of bed at 6:30 this morning and am greeted by L. "Mom, my stomach hurts.".

Ok, now in a house full of boys, this is usually caused by four things. 1) To much playing outside, not enough water. Usually tandem with being dizzy, feeling funny, floaty, or weak legged. 2) Trying to get out of school. We've had plenty of this Anxiety crap this year, but I let it ride sometimes. 3) Actual illness. 4) Forgetting to poop.

My first question to him was, "Did you poop yesterday?" "No" "Go poop".

G and I were getting ready, and I'm in a full on battle with the cafeteria manager of G's new school. (Don't stamp my kid's hand with the amount of money he owes. We know. He's NEW. We didn't know when his lunch account would transfer over. BITE MY ASS.) "MOM... I still don't feel good. I'm going back to bed."

Um. Ok.

Now, when L's made up his mind about something, there's usually no arguing with him. You can tell him to do otherwise and he will- But he will just give you death eyes and mutter under his breath about how much you suck the entire time.

Take G to school, come back, S is screaming. Teeth. Fuck me. I pull him out of bed and check on L. "Can I watch TV." "No" "Ok".

I come out to the living room to feed S, and pause the Gabba we're watching and hear the TV. WTF. "L! What are you doing?" "I'm watching TV, duh." "Didn't I tell you no?" "Yeah." "So why did you turn on your TV?" "Because you told me I could press the button." "Um, try again." "Ok, mom, mainly because I wanted to.".

So I tell him to go lay down. I'm still dealing with the S, and I hit Shaken Baby Syndrome Threshold. I go put him in his crib, and go check on L. "How you feeling." "My stomach still hurts and I have a mild fever." I start laughing. "No Mom, it's really not funny." "How are you self diagnosing?" "Well, my stomach hurts and my head feels a little warm. That's how I know it's a mild fever and not a major one."

And my world spins madly on...

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Four: It's about Boobs.

So just a minute ago, this article on my Facebook news feed caught my eye.

Breast: Incompetent but Best.

So we're going to talk about boobies today, folks.

So, as most of you know, I've shot three kids out of my vagina. G came along when I was 19, L when I was 21, and S when I was 27. With G, I tried and tried to nurse him. L, I made nothing. Not even that fun stuff that leaks out of your boobs when your pregnant... But my life was also different with G and L. Dave was a different person with a different career- And I knew he wasn't going to be around, and I was going to be alone those days that I wanted to drown the kid in the bathtub for biting me for the 27th time that day.

When we got closer to S's due date, I knew G and L were going to be out of the state for an extended period of time but that I was also going to have issues- So I gave it my all. I tried to nurse, which he hated because there wasn't enough to keep him interested. So we bottle fed and supplemented with breast milk- The whole 5 ounces I got pumping 10 times a day. I took herbs. I took Reglan. I drank that god awful tea. I got advice from every Know-Everything. I attended La Leche League meetings. (Never feed your child a bottle at a La Leche League meeting. They will chase you out of there with pitchforks and torches) I returned to the lactation consultant at the hospital. (90 dollars that my insurance didn't pay for, BTW. Where's the fucking justice in my 14k a year policy, Aetna?)

I tried and tried and tried... And for 8 weeks, S got every bit of breast milk I could give him. Then G and L came home. Do you have any idea how draining it is to pump every 8 hours, on top of doing most of the baby's feedings and trying to take care of (then) 5 and 7 year olds? Yeah.

So I quit. Not without it's share of guilt, though. And now, I have quite a few friends who are on the 'Boobie Brigade'. You know the type... The militant breastfeeders- The ones who will breastfeed until their child is 2 or in Kindergarten or whatever. The ones who's first assumption is 'What a terrible mother' when they see you pop a bottle in your child's mouth. I also have friends who are on the bottle side of life. I also have friends who see women breastfeeding a 9 month old and their first thought is "Ok. So now that he's old enough to ask for it, when are you going to stop?".

So, honestly, I think that we all know that breast is best. But there comes a point in life where our choices are just that. I don't think that any of my breastfeeding friends are any less competent than I am at parenting or life because they nurse. Nor do I think that my bottle feeding friends are any more competent. (Most days, I think they are all more competent than I am.) In the 50's, American culture's love of big Pharma took on this pedestrian view of breastfeeding with the dry up shots and the invention of formula... But science is now telling us otherwise.

But being judgmental of either camp isn't going to change minds or hearts in our lifetime... Because the very person that you're judging could be someone like me. And labeling breastfeeding mothers anything short of dedicated isn't going to help anyone.

Side note: Turns out, I had an underlying medical condition. Had it been diagnosed, I would have been able to almost completely nurse all three boys.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011


Quite regularly, my children come up with the most... Humorous things.

When G and L were a few years younger, they used to play super heroes. Their super power? Nipples that shot off and punched the enemy in the eye.

The title of the blog is something that L said to my MIL when he was 4, in response to something she said about my FIL. "OH, That Grandpa. He's being so silly.". "That's not silly. That's stupidity.".

L's the one who comes up with most of the gems. G catches me off guard every so often, but L... Oh, evil, little plotting L... One of his spelling words this week is GIRL. Easy peasy for L, right? You ask him to spell girl, and he'll spell it, and then all the words he can think of that rhyme with girl. Part of his assignment is to write a sentence using each of his spelling words.

For all of you who wish you have a genius child- Do yourselves a favor and stop... Because this is what your 6 year old's homework will end up looking like-

"WOW, Look at that hot girl.". Correct punctuation and all. So, in checking his homework for legibility, I come across the gem there, and nearly spit my pasta. "L! Who gave you this sentence?!".

"Mom. Who do you think? Besides, boys like hot girls.".

And my world spins madly on...

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


I take issue with a lot of things in life. Granted, they are things that I probably should not take issue with.

Today's issue: My sister in law turning my G's bullying issue into a 5 page Facebook page on her experiences as a child and about how it still effects her psyche today.

You're 28. You still live at home. You don't work. You are going to college, AGAIN, after having a 5 year degree on Mommy and Daddy's dime and are usually bitching about not knowing what to do with your time or about how your dad's yelling at you to keep your 2 bedroom's clean.

At some point, GROW UP. We've all got shit. We really do. My relationship with my parents is threadbare. I'm not all "WOAH IS MEEEEEE. They won't give me money to go get diagnosed as Austisitc."

What I don't understand is how two people that shot out of the same woman's vagina and were parented relatively the same have turned out so differently. Yeah, Dave annoys the ever living fuck out of me most days but at the end of those days, he's the one that I know will be there for me to depend on. He supports this family with a job that he happened to be great at- not one that he chose. He's acknowledged his problems and is an amazing father and example to our boys.

I guess it comes down to how each individual handles what they go through in life. We'll tell L that if he keeps walking on toys that we're going to take him to the Dr and have his feet cut off or that if he keeps acting up that we're going to take him back to the circus and return him to his real parents. He just laughs at us and tells us to stop being stupid. (But still believes that we're still actually stealing his nose.) G, on the other hand, has required a therapist to get through what he's gone through this year- For fear that he was either going to eat his entire headboard or wear down his teeth gnawing on it. (But if we try to steal his nose, he slaps our hands, tells us he's not a baby anymore and asks to play Call of Duty.)

And as a mom, it's all about how you handle what your kids are going through. Had Dave's parents reacted differently to him growing up, he'd be a different person. Had his dad not had the anger issues he still exhibits today... Who knows what happens... Had I not gone through what I went through growing up, would I be so worried that I'm failing my children and one of them is going to turn out like SIL? Or worried that G is going to be the kid that takes a pipe bomb to school because he internalizes everything?

Why doesn't the manual shoot out of the vagina after the kid?

Monday, March 21, 2011


So I've been told for a while that I need to start writing things down. Not everything, but the random bullshit things that happen to me on a daily basis. If you don't really know me, then you're asking, "Well, like what?".

Well, how about the time that L pepper sprayed himself while S was in the hospital last month?

G deciding that the MOST appropriate time to bust out a "That's what she said" joke was in front of the Administrative Dean at his elementary school's Culture Night? (And before you ask, yes, it was hysterical.)

Or S. Sweet little baby S... Becoming, well, a redhead.

I have a crazy mother, a father who doesn't give a damn, inlaws who believe that L needs to be medicated, and the absolute kicker. I'm married to a 30 year old man child who, last night, I kid you not, woke me up in the middle of the night to ask me where the peanut butter was.
"Did you look on the counter?" "On which counter?" "ARE WE FUCKING SERIOUS HERE?" "OH WAIT!", he yells from the kitchen, "I found it. Thanks.".

Because the world would stop turning if we didn't find the peanut butter at 3am.