...Sex, Race, Bullying and Breast Buds

What the f**k have I been doing over the last month?? Well, let's just say there have been some serious PBS specials going on in the afternoon at the Davis household and not the good ole message filled PBS specials. These Parables of Bull Shit (PBS) have involved profanity, name calling, crying, gasping for air and death threats. Yep, we have been keeping it classy.

Sex has become an ongoing topic in our house since the "talk" with the two oldest Divas. They love to ask me questions that cause me to choke at random moments when I am at peace with the world.

The oldest Diva: I read there is a woman with 20 children. Did she have sex 20 times? That's so gross.
Me in my head: Pretty sure she is having a lot of sex, but I can't say this. Maybe, I need to let her believe that every time a person has sex they will get pregnant and that sex is gross.
Me: Yes. She has had sex 20 times.
The oldest Diva: So, you and dad have had sex at least three times.
Me in my head: WTF is wrong with her??
Me: Yes at least three times. I don't keep count.
Me in my head: SHIT!!!! What did I just say to her?? What message am I sending? I think she does this shit on purpose just to see my startled response that I try to hide from her. 

She then proceeds to skip off like everything is just fine and dandy. I secretly want to get stoned, but I learned in college that getting high and going to the hospital is not good for me. So, I just stare off into space and wonder how I will make it through the years. Miss B knows my soul. She can sense when I am in turmoil about something because that little bitch walked right into the kitchen and said "Can I see a picture of your dead mother? What was her name again?". I just look at this beautiful

This should be a yoga pose called "Mamas trying to keep it classy"

child that I have been blessed to create for a couple of minutes with my mouth wide open. I literally want to do flips backwards out of the kitchen while screaming "Help me Jesus!" Instead,  I proceed to pour a glass of Prosecco and pull out a photo album full of pictures of my dead mother. Times like this make me jealous of the sexy bald fella. I try to tell myself that it's not a conspiracy against me. I try to believe they don't get together in a room and say "Let's see what we can ask mama to make her take an extra pill, curse, and drink champagne". I also tell myself that they don't ask the SBF because he's a dumb ass...giggle. He's offered his commentary on certain topics many times in the past, but made sure to inform me that he will never discuss "BJs" with his daughters. Well, shit who else is going to do it. I'm not. They have a mother who thinks "road head" is the ultimate trump card, but I shall never let them know. I mean a mama has too keep it classy. Doesn't she?

On to Race....I may only go to church twice a year on Sundays (but we do go almost every Wednesday...giggle). I may drop the f bomb occasionally. I may flip the bird to strangers and friends in front of my children. BUT...I have engraved one truth I know for sure on each one of their souls...the color of someone's skin says nothing about them. I am very fortunate to come from a very blended past and present. So blended that the girls do not blink an eye at interracial dating or marriage. The SBF and I both dated outside of our race. The Davis's have friends of all races. There is no tolerance for racism. So when a little shit tells my middle Diva "he doesn't like black people. he's a racist", all hell breaks loose. I bypass "mama bear" and go straight to the "clown from the movie "It" by Stephen King". I want to f**k someone up. I know the world is not perfect. I know children repeat what they learn at home. I know this. I also know that silence will not change the world nor mold a child. One can hate math. One can hate Chinese food. One can hate RHOA. One can hate working out. One can hate anything, but the color of a person's skin. I live in Mississippi and struggle with some of the racial issues that are still present. I went to a college that is still fighting an image supported by racism. Hating a race is deplorable and will not be tolerated. I want to tell so many racist "sons of f**kers" to hate CANCER because that shit can kill ya. We need cancer to go away permanently. I have talked with the Divas. I have let my guard down and threatened to beat the shit out of the little boy's parents. I have offered to teach him. I have encouraged the middle Diva to take her lunch box and slap the little shit across the face...not one time, but many times. I know others may disagree with this advice. But little children that have no fear of allowing themselves to hate will grow up to be adults who will act on their ignorance because they never had a life changing moment to teach them better. The life changing moment may show itself through education, communication, or maybe an "ass whooping". If it works, I think the little shit deserves to take one for the team. The world will be a better place because of it.

You would think two weeks of sex and race would end this Parable of Bull Shit special, but not for us. This special just got picked up for another season starting right off with "bullying". First of all, I had the shit beat out of me until I was old enough to get a boyfriend. We moved around a good bit when I was younger. So, I was the "new girl" quite often. Well, let me tell you...."bitches don't like new girls." I was small, so I didn't learn how to fight with my fists. But, I learned how to spew balls of Hell fire out my mouth. My dear mother helped me with the language and even offered up "family secrets" of the bully to share. I did go back and reiterate very shameful things and got my ass whooped again, but finally I would come up with something so foul they would walk away. Some may look at this as a "not so shining" point in my childhood. I look at it as survival. Have I carried the propensity to read a bitch from the rooter to the tooter into my adult life...yes I have. BUT, I don't bite unless provoked. I am not sure how to teach the Divas to find balance, but I want them to stand up for themselves and each other. I guess the SBF finally had enough because just last week he told my middle Diva to tell a little shit to "GO TO HELL." The middle Diva is a lover not a fighter. She is a saint not a sinner. She is truly the salt of the Earth and I am not sure how she managed to end up in

I created this lovely pic on my lunch break. Nice?

this household. She gasped and almost collapsed at what the SBF told her to repeat. He toned it down some by stating tell him "MY DADDY SAID TO GO TO HELL!!" I chimed in with "make sure you whisper it in his ear." She was dumbfounded. Poor child. The other two Divas were present. The oldest Diva laughed with excitement and muttered something like "you are so lucky that you get to curse." Miss B just took it all in and calmly added "I don't like him" which translated in my head to "I would f**k him up if I could." I go back and forth with which is worse...mean boys or mean girls. Mean girls can cause some major damage and then the bitches grow up to be mean mommies. Through all of this, I have learned I am the mother that will tell a kid to "stay the f**k away from my child or endure a lifetime of anal leakage". Before you judge me, we teach a shit load of kind words. Manners are mandatory. Shut up is a bad word. I am not striving for an A+ in parenting. That is ridiculous and unattainable and not necessary for them to be functional, loving people. I just need to get shit right most of the time.


And last but not least....breast buds. Lucky for me, I get to discuss breast buds on a daily basis because of the book I introduced my Divas to. They couldn't take just one discussion and walk away pleased with the knowledge. Through several discussions and photo comparisons, I decided it was time to purchase a bra. I embarked on the bra journey with all three Divas to JCPenney. I am surprised we were not asked to leave the property. Three little girls in a dressing room is not healthy. Miss B spent most of the entire timing pulling her breast buds because she wanted them to grow. The middle Diva was sulking because she wanted a "bra-ra" as Miss B kept calling it. When Miss B proceeded to grab another Diva's breast bud, I decided to leave. Screaming "stop touching her breast buds" in a small dressing room is not a good look for a "normal" family. It took hours to pick out the right one...not because of fit, but because they are putting decorations and shit on "bra-ras". What the hell??? Some of them even snapped in the front. We walked away with 2...gray and hot pink. The hot pink almost killed me, but our choices were slim. The ladies checking us out laughed because I was nauseous and rocking back and forth. But, I did it. I can check that shit off my list for now.


I have come to realize that raising these three beautiful souls is one of the hardest and most important jobs I have. The rules change daily. The discussions are getting crazier. Their need to understand how this world works is growing daily. I have a long time to screw shit up and scar them for life. So, I have learned one thing...pick your failures cautiously because it's a long road ahead of us. My kids go to school looking like shit some days. I forget to show up for some school parties. I may purchase $40 worth of bull shit at a General Store on a 15 hour field trip as a bribe to skip the last part of the itinerary....f**king Chuck E Cheese visit. I may lie about not being able to attend a field trip because I just don't want to fucking go. I don't consider those my low points. I just recently had to take my middle Diva with me to go see my psychiatrist. She had been sick the previous day and I couldn't find a sitter. So, I packed her up and I drove an hour to go see my shrink. As we walked in the waiting room, she looked around. Finally, she asked "What kind of doctor is this?". I paused for a moment. Finally, I said this is a doctor I get to go talk to about anything I want. She helps me calm down when I get stressed or worried. She really listens to me and gives me good advice. Sometimes, I get really nervous because of things that have happened to me. This doctor is like a best friend that you can tell your secrets too. She smiled and "that was that". I left her in the waiting room with my cellphone as entertainment and  talked to my shrink. Maybe, she will remember this as a moment where mommy told her it's okay to not have your shit together and talk to someone about it. Maybe, this will be a comical story that will resurface at Thanksgiving Dinners..."remember that time mama took me along to see her shrink". Both outcomes would be just splendid because that kind of shit builds character. I may not always get it right, but I keep it real. 

...Sh*t Just Got Real

It's a new year and how else would our house decide to "turn up" in 2014...with the SEX TALK!!! Oh yeah, we had a "PBS special gone bad" in our house last night and I was the star of the show. Let me start this off by saying....shit just got real.

I ignored all the signs yesterday. One friend had spent the day doing a wonderful job introducing her daughter to the ins and outs of "becoming a woman". A friend told me during pick up that her students knew about sex and that I needed to talk to my Divas. I knew the conversation was coming. I purchased a book last summer and had all intentions on fully reading and becoming educated on "sex". Giggle. Well, I didn't listen to the SBF when he said do it before school starts and I put it off. For months, that book has sat on my nightstand under two other books I should have been reading. I was thinking I had a couple of more months before the birds and the bees. BULLSHIT

As always, the car rides home from school involve the Divas filling me in on the drama of their lives. The two oldest have had trouble with a certain friend excluding them at school (typical Mean Girl shit).  We have encouraged them to go make other friends because sometimes this particular friend talks about things that the Divas don't understand. How I have managed to raise innocent and conservative little girls is beyond me. I know everyone thinks their child is heaven sent, but these girls are the salt of the f**king earth. They are the sweetest, kindest, most generous and polite little bitches that I know. They correct me when I flip off strangers. They pray for me when I am having a bad day. They worry about hunger in the world. They secretly judge my second glass of champagne. We pray as a family every night....WTF??? They ask for forgiveness and patience and pray for their friends and shit. Who would have "thunk" it. Back to their little friend....well, when I made a comment about their friend saying inappropriate things....the oldest Diva chimed in with a "yeah...like sex".

I saw the light. The light that every mother sees when they think..."oh, hell this is it. This will be what destroys me." This light is not similar to what I believe people see when they die. This light is more like flashing strobe lights, screaming, and getting slapped in the f**king face. There is no peace and comfort. There is nothing but your past flashing before your eyes...every bad choice, every bad hook up, every lie, and any other thing you did wrong presents itself....damn KARMA!!! I managed to swallow and ask the oldest Diva if she knew what "sex" was and she quickly said "yes".

Oldest Diva: "Yes, I know what sex is. My friend told me."
Middle Diva: "I do too. It's male or female."
Oldest Diva: "No, it's when a man sticks his penis in a woman."
Me: "How did your friend find out,"
Oldest Diva: "She heard her mom screaming one night and went to go check on her and her
                              parents were having sex."
  ***I choked, coughed, pissed myself a little, ran off the road**
Middle Diva: "She was screaming??"
Me: WHAT??????
Oldest Diva: "Yes. Her mom told her because it felt good."

I stopped the conversation there because Miss B was all ears and I couldn't see or hear too well. They started sounding like the damn Charlie Brown teacher. I managed to get out..."We will talk about this when we get home." I know I mouthed WTF out my window 50 times while driving home. The Divas were laughing and shit. I was slowly drifting off into hysteria. I wanted to cry. I wanted to call my mom. I wanted to shit myself and take a nap. I sent the SBF a text of the convo and he pulled out the "I told you so" comment and I flipped off the phone. I managed to get them fed and finished homework. As they started bath time, I began reading that book like a mad woman. I had pen, paper, highlighter, and sticky notes. They would walk in every once in a while and look over with a little smirk on their face. They knew it was coming. Miss B was jumping on the bed and I was trying to memorize the stages of puberty. I'm looking at sketches of vaginas and Miss B is flipping off my bed.

I realize it's getting late and say "f**k it. Game time." I manage to find a barbie movie on Netflix and headphones for Miss B and place her at the foot of the bed. We hang out in our bedroom more than any other room. So, I felt it would be great just to cuddle up with my two oldest Divas and have the talk with this book. I called them to the room and these bitches were almost squealing. They jumped in...one on each side of me. I have my book, my highlighter, my pen, my paper, my sticky notes and I stated with the utmost confidence..."Let's start off with puberty...." I picked that because I had already discussed periods with them. So, I felt this was a good starting point....

They looked up at me and giggled and then "BOOM!" Those bitches tag teamed me. The shit that unfolded from our conversation...HOLY HELL!! I blocked some of the conversation out. I will share the highlights, aka, what I can remember.

Middle Diva: So, I have a pesticle?
Me: No. Pay attention. Stop laughing. You have a VA-GINA.
Middle Diva: My friend said it was called a "virginia". Okay. Do I have balls too?
Me: No. Your daddy has balls. Balls go with penises.
Oldest Diva: GROSS!!

Me: I'm on my period now. You have to have a period to have a baby.
Oldest Diva: So you can get pregnant? When can you get pregnant?
Me: I don't know. Let me look at my period tracker app.
Oldest Diva: So, you can get pregnant again?
Me: Yes. Well, No. I shouldn't. Your dad had a vasectomy.

Oldest Diva: I'm not using those tampon things. You will have to stick them in for me.
Me: I WILL NOT!

Oldest Diva: Do you and daddy have sex?
Me: Uhm..yeah!!!
Middle Diva: So dad sticks his penis inside of you?
Me: Yes
Oldest Diva: Gross!!! Why?
Me: Because it feels good.
Oldest Diva: I'm never having sex.
Middle Diva: Did you have sex before you got married?
Me: Yes
Oldest Diva: You did!!!!!! You had sex with daddy before you married him?
Me: Yep
Oldest Diva: Did you have sex with anybody else?
Middle Diva: That's none of our business.
Me: No

****LIE. LIE. LIE!!***** And the middle Diva knew I was not telling the truth. She looked into my soul.

The SBF comes home finally and sits down and joins the conversation. And it goes like this....
SBF: First and foremost, God created sex.
The Divas in unison: He DID!!!
Me in my head: F**k!!! Did I mention Jesus? Shit. Shit. Shit. He's so self righteous. Damnit!!

****I exit and go load the dishwasher****

Those are the highlights. I felt like I was at a press conference. I was not prepared for how comfortable they would be with me. I was not prepared for all of the questions. Then, I remembered they are my daughters. They may not have filters!!!!! Shit!!!!! I did the best I could in the amount of time that I had. I foresee many more conversations. There is so much more they need to know and so much they didn't need to know. My mom told me about sex in the 5th grade. I begged her not too. She sat down with a book and proceeded to tell me I was conceived in the backseat of an automobile when she skipped school. My mother was very open and honest for which I am so thankful for because I lost that beautiful woman at such a young age. I do look back and think that some of the stuff she said....I didn't need to know. Giggle

I have realized that this shit is going to be hard for me. One, I love sex. I think it's awesome. I like it. I think everyone should like it. I think it's pretty f**king amazing if you get the right person. I am pretty open about my life...sex and all. So, my filter is weak. I don't think my daughters need to be virgins when they get married. I don't think it's necessary. I do regret having sex in high school...in college...not so much. I don't want them to be prudes. I don't want them to just lie there. I want them to enjoy it. I want them to love their bodies and be comfortable with their bodies. I don't think sex and love are the same thing. I think little shits will say they love you to have sex with you. Note: I will kill those little shits. I don't want them to get pregnant or an STD. I am pro choice. I had an abortion. I want them to just date and have fun. I want them to know I will never be their judge or jury. I will be their beside them all the way...for as long as their is breath in my body. I will "catch a charge". I will seriously beat the shit out of the little asshats that hurt their hearts.

The night ended with the usual family prayer...like nothing had ever happened. Miss B did inform us that she knew we were talking about boys. KILL ME!!!

Let this be known: We did inform the Divas that what we talked about was "family talk"....private family talk that could not be shared with their friends. It's just the rules. Even if their friends ask them about sex, they are not allowed to talk about it. If their friends have questions, they have been told to tell their friends to ask their parents. We even went so far as to tell the Divas that their friends' parents would get upset if they were to tell their children about sex. They love their friends and would not do anything to jeopardize their friendships. It is not their place to educate other little girls or boys right now.

This is not a slut campaign. This is not an opportunity to judge. This is a warning. This is a lesson.

TALK TO YOUR KIDS SOON AND TELL THEM TO KEEP WHAT THEY KNOW PRIVATE FOR NOW!!

I have struggled with my feelings about the screaming mom. Part of me wants to high five her and suggest a pillow next time. Part of me wants to call her up and go WTF? Then I have a flashback of me telling the Divas that "Yes I could get pregnant. I mean...No, I shouldn't get pregnant because their dad had a vasectomy.". AND I REALIZE....shit happens. I tried my best last night. They may have whooped my ASS last night, but I'll be ready...next time...hopefully...who the f**k am I kidding........I raise my glass and my bottle of pills. Cheers. Best of luck. Cause shit just got real."   

Cheers

...Crazy mom seeking cheer

I cannot believe that Christmas will be here in two weeks. What the hell??????? Our household has been a complete blur since Thanksgiving. Confession: I broke my rule of no Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving and I think I have whipped up a shitload of craziness because of it. Thanksgiving break brought cold wet weather and to keep myself from running through the neighborhood naked, I decided it would be fun to go ahead and get started on Christmas. The whole family was experiencing a serious case of cabin fever. So, nothing like a tree and some lights to show us the end of the tunnel. The SBF brought down 12 boxes of Christmas mania from the attic and walked away. His job was finished. I began the task of Christmas cheer. Ten minutes into the madness, I realized our prelit tree was no longer prelit, but I was prepared. I had purchased tons of Christmas lights. There was Christmas music playing in the background and I knew this would be a moment of happiness...true bliss.

Within thirty minutes of this process, my house looked like a fraternity party gone bad. The Divas had stepped on and smashed several strands of lights. They were fighting over who could climb in the boxes and the SBF had decided to put on some "African spiritual music". We are a family with a vast variety of musical tastes, but I wanted damn Christmas music. I wanted the f---king cheer. The Divas loved it and decided to turn over boxes full of ornaments and beat the empty boxes like drums. I think I bit a hole in the side of my mouth, but I did not say a word. I continued to "fluff" out the tree. For one second, I became fearful that one of my ancestors would come out of the tree and choke the shit out of me. Why???? Why did my house sound like this...the screams, drums, and mumbling had me thinking we participating in some voodoo craft. As they pranced around and the SBF sang into a microphone, I went through my ornaments. Long gone are the days of fancy ornaments. All of my ornaments bounce. It took me three years and numerous broken glass ornaments to realize that I had to make the switch. I was finding some peace in meticuously placing every ornament in it's

designated spot until the SBF decided to scare the shit out of the Divas with his "moans" on the mic. So, they ran to me wanting to help. I told myself this would be a moment they would remember. So, I foolishly accepted their help. The fighting and crying that erupted caused me to black out a couple of times. I watched them push each other into our Christmas tree, fight over ornaments, bite, wrestle, and snatch Christmas shit for the next thirty minutes. I stepped back and allowed them to put six ornaments on one limb only to watch them all fall to the floor. I said nothing. The rage inside of me had left me speechless. The oldest Diva began to chase Miss B around the house with a stuffed Grinch which she's scared shitless of. The SBF was still singing and I contemplated walking out the door. Finally, I could not take anymore and I let lose a good old "F--K" followed by some shit that sounded like I was speaking in tongues. They all stood there frozen as if I had lost my mine. They had their "mommy said "f--k" while putting up the Christmas tree" look....blasphemy!!! The SBF cut the music off and escorted them to bath time. I flipped him off as he walked by. I decorated the whole damn house by myself and it currently looks like I had a Christmas seizure. Every corner of my house is decorated with Christmas cheer to the point that I want to vomit.

(check out the shard of ice coming out of his cheek)

Miss B begged me to put up outside lights this year. So, I did...hoping it would make her Christmas extra special. Currently, there are lights going half way up the only three trees in our front yard because I didn't have the courage to climb a ladder and go all the way to the top. I also have three wooden trees that are lit up by 100 watt flood lights. They shine so brightly onto the trees and into our house that there is no longer a need to turn one damn lamp on. Matter of fact, I think those sons of bitches are actually heating the house. There is an orange forty foot cord going through our front yard and at the end is what is sure to be a fire hazard. But there are candy canes, lights, and an inflatable snowman damnit!!!!!! The front door is nicely decorated. So, I am at peace with the debacle and I could give a shit what the neighbors think. The shocking part....the Divas could give two shits about those lights. They only think of them when they want to bring up something mommy is not doing right. A couple days of ago, Miss B came to me in her scolding voice "Mommy the snowman is not up?"  In my head, I said "f--k you" and then asked for forgiveness. I put on my green suede slippers on and marched through the wet frozen grass and proceeded to pry a frozen completely flat snowman off the ground. I screamed. I cursed. I yelled. That bitch ass snowman was going to inflate if it killed me. I snatched the wet cord and plugged it into the strip of hazard and prayed it would electrocute me...not kill me. I just wanted it to shock me to the point I would pass out in the wet grass for a while. It did inflate and there was a nice shard of ice sticking out the side of it. I felt it was symbolic of how I was feeling. I stomped my frostbitten ass across the yard, entered the house, and proceeded to scream to the SBF not to unplug one damn Christmas decoration... "EVER!!!!" and I called him a son of a bitch. Oh. Yes. I. Did.


To continue our Christmas cheer, I decided to purchase a gingerbread house. I went over a friend's house and fell in love with her nicely decorated gingerbread house. What a great idea for my Divas? I came home with the box and their faces lit up with joy. I cleaned off the kitchen table and vowed that I would be happy and joyful during the entire process. I told myself I would not get caught up in how they decorated the house. I wanted them to cherish the memory. First, the bitches began to plead with me to allow them to eat the damn candy for the house. Miss B could not understand why she couldn't bite into the roof. You would think I deprived them of sweets. I ignored the nonsense and the fighting over peppermints and began to squeeze out the white icing aka as white crack. Those bitches saw the icing and lost their mind. They begged to eat it and I started screaming "It's for the damn house". One of them suggested using glue and I almost went to a dark place. We put the damn house together and I ignored the fact that Miss B licked the icing off of one side. I ignored the fighting over gumdrops. I quietly watched them make a complete f--king mess. When it was finished, I decided to take a picture. I bullshit thee not....3 seconds after snapping a photo the damn house fell apart. They screamed and I just stood there. The SBF came running and had the nerve to rub my shoulder and comfort me. "You tried your best" he said. I politely whispered in his ear..."I could give two f--ks about that house. Y'all are driving me f--king crazy". The Divas tried to put it back together and were unsuccessful. I said nothing. I watched them eat the icing and candy. I even watched Miss B take at least 5 shots of green sugar crystals to the head. I left the shit of a mess on the kitchen table and climbed into bed. Miss B ran around for 3 straight hours in circles due to a sugar high and I watched TV.


Now on to our elf...Mr. Jingle Jangle. He is male and he likes to wear skirts. Don't judge him. I have developed a love hate relationship for this little shit. I hate to admit he is over Jesus in our house right now. Miss B will shit bricks if I tell her that I'm going to tell Jingle about how she screamed for five miles on the way to school because she didn't want to wear socks. Homework, extracurricular activities, and Christmas parties have taken over our life. So by the time I crawl to bed, I don't want to do anything nice to that Jingle. I seriously thought about cutting his damn arm off to traumatize Miss B. One night, he did not move because he was placed on the "No Fly" list due to the banshee like screaming that had occurred from all three Divas at supper time. My ability to create funny little situations have turned into some "Shining" shit. I giggled one night as I wrote a message from Jingle on our chalkboard in the kitchen. I wanted to write "redrum". Yep, that's where I am on the holiday cheer list. I hate the ELF ON THE SHELF!!!!! But for my children, I will still participate in the nonsense.




I am tapped out and still have two weeks to go. I am ready to remove all of the red and green shit in my house. I don't want to listen to Feliz Navidad on repeat every day. I want to drop kick Jingle's ass into the front yard by the inflatable snowman with the ice shard sticking out of him. I remember Christmas as a child and I would literally sit quietly for hours and stare at our Christmas tree. It was pure bliss or either my mother drugged me during the holidays with Benadryl and I was hallucinating.

After our Christmas Pageant at church tonight, I will have my cheer alright. It's going to come over me as I pop open my champagne and drink directly from the bottle. And I will sing loud and merrily "Cheers and to everyone....goodnight!"

...Dear Karma

Dear Karma,

In light of recent "life events", I have had a lot of time for some self reflecting and I would like to start off by saying...KARMA is a bitch. I'm not sure what the hell I did in the past years, but I take
this time to ask for forgiveness...

• To the ant, I stepped on when I was in the 4th grade, I am so fucking sorry dude. My bad.
• To the lady who said she wanted Dr. Pepper when I was a waitress, and I mixed Diet Coke and Coke and never said a word..I apologize.
• To the guy who was also elected Favorites in the 9th grade and picked me to pair up with him which caused me to go into hysteria, I am sorry for being a bitch.
• To the man who said I cut him off and proceeded to try to make me wreck, I apologize for flipping you and your young son off and then for screaming "roll your fucking window up" repeatedly for almost a mile, I am sorry.
• To the many jobs I quit on the spot or never came back from my lunch break, I am sorry.
• To the lady at the Chinese restaurant that told me I could not put noodles in the to-go soup container and I did it anyway while yelling "you can't tell me what to do with this container", I am sorry.
• To the guys I wrote papers for in college full of plagiarism and charged $10/page, I am sorry.
• To the numerous vehicles I hit in parking lots and drove away and parked in another spot, I am sorry.
• To the many mothers I looked at during my single years and judged them while their kids acted like complete asses, I apologize. You should be happy to know Miss B makes sure to publicly embarrass me every day.
• To the guy that owned a local pizza place, I am sorry for getting upset because you never delivered my order and then calling back and ordering $50 worth of food and refusing to go to the door when you did deliver.
• To the guy that I cheated on with the SBF, I apologize for not being able to resist that bald head and killer smile that caused my loins to scream..."get on that". 
• To the random thief that withdrew $30 bucks out of my bank account, I am sorry for tracking down your number and proceeding to call you and tell you that I would choke your children.
• To the SBF, I apologize for going behind your back and getting a "secret credit card" that resulted in a stranger charging $467 dollar worth of apps causing me to have to confess my wrongdoing...I am sorry.
• To the Divas that I love so, I apologize for throwing your toys and numerous paintings away at night.
• To the random college boys, I apologize for vomiting on you while I was stumbling to my car.
• To our dog that we dropped off at the Humane Society because it started shitting black tar and I didn't want it to mess up the new house we had just closed on...I am sorry.
• To the movie goers that had to listen to a wine bottle roll down the aisle of the movie theater, I am sorry for sneaking it in and then pretending it was not mine. 

I hope these apologies serve as a peace offering for you to move on to your next victim. I have learned my lesson....maybe the Nissan Corporation is due a visit from you. I am sorry, I didn't mean that....

Sincerely and formerly,

Your bitch

...irrational, take 1

For the last week, I have had some of the craziest encounters with people. Encounters so damn ridiculous that I asked myself  "Is this real life?". I know that it's mainly just "life shit", but my tolerance level is low. My behavior has even caused the SBF to call me irrational and unreasonable.

My answer to him:  "Ya damn right I am irrational and unreasonable." I don't live in a rational world. I am surrounded by four idiots almost 24 hours a day that drive me bat shit crazy. Having to say out loud "Wipe your ass in the bathroom and not the kitchen", "Why would you lick that?", "Who the hell put a hole in the wall?", "What would make you think it's okay to paint the bottom of your foot with nail polish?", "No, I don't know where your boxers are because I don't wear boxers?", "I don't know if ants poop or pee?", and "Mommy is not Kindle Fire tech support." is not rational.

And on top of my "irrational" state of mind, I am currently driving a minivan. Yes, I recall stating that I wouldn't mind owning a minivan and calling it the "Twerk Tank", but the way I have come about driving this "shit trap" is irrational and unreasonable to say the least.

Twelve days ago, I took my brand new Nissan Pathfinder to get an oil change and determine if the service men could detect what I had been telling my husband for 2 weeks. I covet my vehicle. I wash her once a week and I love her. So, when she started shuddering and losing power I could feel this dread taking over. Of course, the all knowing SBF said it was the gas I was putting in the SUV....that shit sounds "irrational"!! Needless to say, I went ape shit at our local Nissan Dealership when they told me I needed a new torque converter. When the guy returned after test driving my car, he just looked at me and shook his head. Thirty minutes later, the service lady came out and said "Ma'am, your car is almost ready". My response: "The hell it is. Something is wrong with my car." She told me she would come talk to me. I stood there and tried to listen to this woman tell me that the car I purchased less than 60 days ago needed to be repaired and she was not sure when the part would come in.

After two minutes, I nicely interrupted her and said "bullshit. this is bullshit." She was shocked to say the least, but I couldn't stop it. I had gone to a dark place and I think I cupped my mouth and turned side to side and shouted "bullshit". The next thing I know the man who did our "paperwork" was trying to calm me down and saying  that I'm lucky the car is under warranty. Of course, the f bombs started dropping, customers started staring, and I told him that it wasn't luck, but me getting f___d. He asked how could he help me and I screamed..."giveeeeee meeeeee a neeeeeewwwww carrrrrrrr riigggghhhhht nowwwww." I guess he thought telling me that "there was no way that would happen" would make me be quiet. I screamed "I'm calling my husband" and walked out the door. I planted myself right in front of the dealership on the hot ass pavement with my legs crossed smoking a cigarette. A friend was getting her oil changed and she slowed down, rolled down her window, and said "Do you need some help? Do you need a ride? I heard what happened and that's not right." I thanked her and the tears started flowing. I called the SBF for back up and his ass was stranded at home with a dead battery. F____k. It took him almost an hour to get up there and I was advised by friends to not enter the facility. So, I sat outside in the hot ass sun on the hot ass pavement...chain smoking and crying.

The SBF arrives and I lead him in and just stand back and watch. My hero had come to save the day.  Wait....WTF is he smiling?? Are they laughing together? Is he shaking his head as if to say he understands the situation? I stood there with my mouth wide open and decide to intervene. To make a
long story short, I left hysterical and calling the SBF a p___y and yelling "get some balls". His answer to my demands, expectations, and behavior..."irrational". I felt like he had just bitch slapped me. Irrational would have been me driving through the glass windows at the Nissan dealership.

I had to return to the dealership to get a 5 day loaner. Confession: Yes, I told the woman that had just finished test driving a Nissan Pathfinder with her husband..."Don't do it. I bought one just like this less than 2 months ago and it's broken." Yes, I flung Miss B's car seat full of skittles around the dealership like I was throwing beads at a Mardis Gras parade. Yes, I spent days plotting my revenge. How many shit pies could I serve up in honor of one of my fave movies, The Help.

So, I am a maniac in a minivan currently. Irrational, unreasonable, and mad as hell. I have learned that people have preconceived notions about moms who drive minivans. Public service announcement: Just because I am driving a minivan does not mean that you can cut me off and not get flipped off. It also does not mean I will not run your ass over because you fail to use the crosswalk and no I will not let you over...bitch we are going to race!!! It's like this van says to people "go ahead...you have the right away. I won't hurt you. I am driving a minivan and must be a sweet little mom with nothing to do". I have contemplated forgetting to put this minivan in park when I drop it off at the front of the dealership.

This may seem irrational and crazy, but I don't give a shit. In acceptance there is peace, so f___k it...I am irrational. Most mothers have to be. It's what drives us to fight for our children, to push the doctors to do extra tests because we just know something is not right, to stay up to the wee hours of the night to do a science project so our child will be happy and proud. Being irrational allows us to do the drop offs and pick ups for tumbling, choir, chorus, soccer, homework, play dates, school parties, etc.  It makes us go that extra step. It makes us burn ourselves at both ends of the candle which I have done for the last two weeks in a world called "volunteering?' This phase of my life will soon come to an end and I will introduce

...Channel 0

If I could describe the physical and mental state of the Davis Household right now, I would suggest to turn to Channel 0. You see that black and white fuzzy screen with white noise. I think some refer to it as "tv snow"...that's us!!!! We visit this channel often...

We are almost 3 weeks into the school year and the excitement has worn off. The Divas have homework and extracurricular activities. Fixing their lunches in the morning has lost their "cuteness". Picking out their clothes at night makes me tired. The adrenaline we experience is always great the first 3 weeks and then the SBF and I wake up and we look like we have been on a drug binge involving "tv snow or tv blow". We our low on energy, contemplating vacations away from each other, and over the whole "school" business.

Back to school requires routine, organization, patience, and a shit load of sanity. The Divas are getting harder to wake up. The homework is getting heavier. The smiles and waves in the carpool drop off line in the morning have faded. Right now, I try not to throw my hands in the air when a parent kisses their
child twice in the carpool line. Immediately, my self talks escalate to "This bitch should have kissed her kid 8 cars back. I have two more f_____g drop offs. Goooooo!" Calling out spelling words has ended. I just enter all of their shit into spellingcity.com, let them go at it, and walk away. The lunches have gone from extravagant fresh fruit with cute little notes to bagged chips and a smilie face scribbled on a napkin. The emails and texts to volunteer are no longer greeted with a smile, but a "WTF, I'm not Jesus." The drop off at tumbling for an hour is no longer a hand in hand skip to the door, but a get out fast because I have to go pick up your sisters goodbye.

Maybe we are on the wrong channel because we put too much into it at the beginning. We go all balls out and then all of a sudden...I can't get out of bed on Sunday, our house is a wreck, there is a pungent odor that won't go away, and the kids are fighting. I lit so many candles in this house yesterday, you would think we were getting ready to "exorcise the demons". The SBF discovered his blood pressure is elevated. F____k!!! My psychiatrist put me on a sleeping pill the same day. WTH??? We both can't go down. Someone has to stay strong. It's a fight to "who will tap out first".

Yesterday afternoon, I thought our Channel 0 was going to jump on over to disconnected cable. The SBF locked his keys in his company car. We are very different in how we lose our shit. My shit fits come very often, so it's no surprise when I start dropping F bombs. The SBF maintains his cool most of the time, but when he "drops his basket"....the episode is terrifying and insanely comical at the same time. He is known for literally running away on foot from closing his finger in the door. He is known for opening the patio door and flinging a bag of chicken out into the kudzu. He is known for taking off on his bicycle. So, yesterday I witnessed his eyebrows move from a horizontal to vertical state. His legs began to shake at his desk and the vein in his forehead began to bulge. Miss B asked if he was sick and instead of me replying "sick in the head". I told her he was just frustrated and needed a timeout. I sat in the bed and tried to remind him that his blood pressure was already elevated, but it was too late. I tried not to giggle in anticipation of what would happen next. I also tried my best not to be selfish and say "Please keep your shit together because I have 3 PTA meetings this week." I sat for 20 minutes listening to him take deep breaths and angrily type on his computer. When the locksmith showed up, he just sat there. I finally convinced him that he must go outside to meet the guy. I was waiting to see his car blast out of the driveway backwards while burning rubber. I was waiting for the f___k screams to begin.

Instead, he returned with his eyebrows still "at attention" and began to get the Divas ready to go to the Lake as promised. I wanted to take each one of the Divas and explain that daddy is on a bad station and to please be gentle with him. They all calmly piled into his car as if to already know that daddy was having an episode. I watched them drive off and said a little prayer. Dear sweet baby Jesus, please let no one cut him off while driving, please let the Divas show their appreciation for a trip to the Lake, and please give me the motivation to clean this house and not waste my free time on FB or pinterest.

They later returned all in one piece. They seemed normal and happy. There were no looks like "daddy said f___k five times in the car". I cautiously approached him and gave his crazy ass a big hug. I even whispered how proud I was of him for keeping his shit together in his ear. He chuckled and confessed that he almost "took off walking", but didn't want to scare the Divas. Bless him for his will power.

Hopefully, by midweek will be back on a normal station...preferably an HD channel. The Divas set their alarm last night and it went off at 3 am. They woke up and got fully dressed. Confession: I slept through it all. I assume they woke up the SBF and he made them go back to bed. I woke up to Miss B fully dressed and shoes on and asleep next to me. I tried not to laugh when I looked at their bewildered faces when I got up. Their eyes were red and they were swaying from side to side.

Today, I plan on climbing the roof and shaking the hell out of the satellite for we must get it together

...Farewell to summer break

Dear Summer Break,

Farewell, you did exactly what I expected. You burned my ass from the rooter to the tooter. Thank you for the numerous rainy days that caused me to contemplate marriage and motherhood. Thank you for the undiagnosed agoraphobia that developed in my children. I have never seen children so afraid of the thought of having to go outside. Thank you also for fooling me into creating a list to help the Divas celebrate your arrival. Having a bucket list was just what I needed to further my sense of failure. We completed 89% of the "_uckett" list to celebrate you. Miss B during her numerous shit fits erased most of the activities with her snotty ass fingers. Those activities that were left were angrily removed as a form of punishment for the excessive whining, crying, fighting, and not listening. Imagine a screaming mother bent over erasing parts of the cute list written in chalk with her bare hands and saying "no farmer's market this week!"

Thank you for making it so hot outside that I looked the other way most of the times when Miss B would run butt ass naked through the yard. You allowed me to further nurture her free spirit. Thank you for making me realize that I need to work at least two days a week because being with my children 24 hrs a day/7 days a week is not healthy for anyone in this house. Thank you for the days I spent at the pool whispering to the Divas to not make it so evident when they piss in the pool. The vomiting because of swallowed water, the numerous wet beach towels, and the f_____g goggles that never fit just right were always icing on the cake. The numerous trips that you afforded us to take where much needed. The relationship I established with nasty ass public restrooms on these road trips helped me grow as a mother. Unfortunately, my oldest Diva still freaks her ass out when the toilet flushes. My middle child came close to shitting herself many times because some restrooms were just "too nasty" for her. Miss B became a walking host for all of the shit Lysol spray kills. Watching Miss B rub her hands against bathroom floors full of wet toilet paper caused me to develop acid reflux.

Thank you for those pretty days where I sat in the yard watching the Divas fight over who could use the pink chalk when others enjoyed the balconies of my favorite local bars. The days where I watched them turn flips for hours were just what I needed to make my day feel productive. Thank you for the much needed quality time that I experienced with my MIL who kept the Divas two days a week all summer. It was so nice coming home to find grocery lists made for me, finding Red Solo cups in the dishwasher, and getting the much needed reports of suspicious behavior about our neighbors. We have never been so close. Thank you for the new car that I indeed covet. Having DVD players in my car cut back on most of the whining and tantrums. It has been pure heaven listening to the Divas yell at each other about certain movie scenes because they can't hear their voices. Thank you also for stopping me from littering in efforts to keep my car free from their shit. I was happy to realize that I still have some morals.

Thank you for the moments when I told Miss B I was going to slap her until she saw stars because she refused to listen to me. I appreciate the Google research I have conducted called "What to Expect When Your Child Won't Cut The Cord". Thank you for all of the moms that I ran into who greeted me with the same "WTF is going on in my life" look. Your looks made me realize I was not alone in the insane asylum I chose for myself. Thank you for Teen Beach Movie that I allowed Miss B to watch just to get almost 2 hours of damn peace and quiet. She watched the movie so much that she can now recite every line of that shitty movie verbatim. She even mastered the dance moves. Does she know her ABC's.....no. But maybe we have sparked an interest that may lead to an acting career...once she learns that her last name does not start with the letter "14".

As you can see, you brought out the best in me. We have had a good run and I bid you farewell and best wishes. I have forgiven you for your promises of warm days, beautiful picnics, sunny beach days, picking flowers, chirping birds, mimosas, and laughing happy children. Your transgressions have been removed. Everything has a season. I must now move on to Back to School. I think he is ready to settle down and offer me a little more routine and stability in my life. All of your shit like the beach toys, bubbles, sprinklers, deflated balls etc are in a box on the curb. Pick them up at your earliest convenience.


Muck you,

Mommy of 3 Davis Divas

...my three Divas + my two nephews = Ward 5

For the next couple of days, the Davis household will have some extra testosterone in our house. My sweet nephews ages 12 & 7 have come to visit. The girls had anticipated their arrival much like Christmas Day. I couldn't help but get excited too. All day I imagined them playing and laughing and my heart was full.

Well, the excitement lasted about two hours and quickly I noticed some pecking order shit beginning. The only thing I can compare their behavior to is when a new inmate arrives in prison. I imagine immediately there is a tone set on who is the leader and who is the bitch. Miss B was determined to hold her ground as the leader or "Head Bitch in Charge". What happened to the sweet cousins that were hugging each other just 2 hours ago? I watched them jump, run, scream, fight, push, pull, and yell. Then I realized that a group of cousins getting together is quite different than a group of friends. This shit was on a whole other level.

I could not believe that I had forgotten my cousin encounters. I loved them, but didn't quite know why. I was always more excited to see them than any of my other friends. Normally, the visits were not often. We were all scattered across the country. The fun would last a couple of hours and then the tone would change. Gang mentality would surface...my family against your family and the ass whoopings would begin. The "be nice because your friends came to visit" was not the rule. The rule was "you are family. play together the best you can. if shit goes down deal with it by any means necessary".

To say the least, I was still shocked to see this behavior surface between my daughters and their cousins. Boys vs girls turned into young vs old then big vs small. I have never whispered "what the f___k so many times in my life. I considered myself superior in the "having tons of kids over when the SBF is out of town" category. Bullshit.....

Basically, both parties lost their f____g minds and were equally responsible for the chaos and "fuckery" that developed last night. I did not know I would have to make sure my oldest understood why she could not have a crush on her oldest cousin. Really....thanks sweetheart for perpetuating the incest label of the South. Did I mention my nephews are biracial? One looks just like his mother and the other one looks just like my brother. Miss B came to me frustrated over not being able to play with a toy and loudly announced that "the white one" hit her. My mouth hit the floor. Shit...familial relations and now race relations. Why couldn't they just go play? Playing turned into fighting. Shit got broken. Tears started falling. Screaming heightened. Tattling of the worst kind developed. Was this some sort of gang initiation? Each of the five inmates suffered a "war wound". For one brief second their was laughter, my youngest nephew was delirious and decided to let my youngest two dress him up as a girl. Well, this sent his brother into hysteria. I stood there frozen. What the hell do I do? I thought it was funny, but my brother is going to kill me. Quickly, I told them the story of how my brother fell down the stairs in our house because he was wearing my mother's red heels. Pretty sure he will love to know I shared that story.

My last effort to mingle with Ward 5 was to offer a movie and a big ass bowl of popcorn mixed with M&Ms. Holy hell...the inmates pounced that bowl, popcorn went everywhere, M&Ms were crushed into my carpet and hardwood floor and you know what I did next......

Not shit. I tapped out. They won. I put them on lock down meaning they could stay up and watch TV, but could not leave the living room for any reason and could not attempt to open any door that would lead to "the outside". I crawled into my bed and went to sleep. Eventually, the yelling stopped or my Xanax kicked in. I stripped myself of the "Great Aunt" award. Somebody else could have that shit. I'm too old for the title. My middle one woke me up at 5 am and told me some of them had not gone to sleep yet. WTF??????? I screamed "go to sleep now". I crawled out of bed at 8 am to find unconscious children on the floor and on the couches. The scene resembled a frat party from my college years, but no alcohol or roofies were involved. 

As I type this post, four of the Ward 5 inmates are up. It's almost 1 pm and I have not been able to get all of them up, fed and dressed. Four of the inmates have decided to come together and blow horns to wake up the one still sleeping. I wonder who will be the last one standing today. I personally could give a rat's ass. As long as Ward 5 does not end up in the ER, I am okay. Luckily the makers of Pfizer and some good friends have made me realize that "you got to know when to hold them, know when to fold them, know when to walk away, know when to run...."

...Throwback Thursday

While doing research (stalking) on FB last night, I came across some app that would allow me to read old FB status posts. Frightening to say the least!! So, in honor of throwback Thursday...

Throwback Thursday
Status Updates

1. Aug. 2009..."Mommy!!! Jesus and Santa are gonna be so proud of me because I listened at school today."--the middle one
2. Oct. 2009...Farryn informed me that she is going to write about me in her "diarrhea".
3. July 2010...SBF: "Where's your mama?". Farryn: "She's out in the garage screwing." SBF: "WHAT? Where is she?". Farryn: "I told you she's out in the garage screwing." FYI: I was screwing a chair back together.
4. Oct. 2011...It warms my heart that Miss B refers to her father as "my Josh". It's a little disturbing when she says "Shit, my Josh" all the way to school.
5. Oct. 2011...Me: You think I'm your maid. SBF: You think I'm your sugar daddy.
6. Nov. 2011...4 strands of broken Christmas lights, 3 children crying, 2 broken snow globes and a mommy drinking Bailey's in her coffee.
7. Jan. 2012...While cooking supper, I found it most appropriate to raise my martini glass to the stay at home moms, the full time working moms, and the part time working moms. How about we stop focusing so much on those silly adjectives we put before our names and just start calling ourselves..FAMS (f____g awesome moms)!
8. Feb. 2012...Cooked a sausage and broccoli frittata with a side of roasted potatoes only to hear Miss B scream "it nassy. it choking me"
9. March 2012...Yes, I was the lady on the bike who was swerving and cursing and panting and almost wrecked twice. What husband suggests bike riding after his wife has had her own little happy hour.
10. March 2012...Driving through campus, I found myself wanting to roll down the window and yell "life is going to bite you in the ass" to all of the happy college students.
11. Sept. 2012...Just imagined kicking a homework folder out of one kid's hand. Instead, I will break a pencil in half while hiding in the closet. I think mommy is a little tired.
12. Oct. 2012...It's really sad when you walk past a child who has fallen asleep on the couch and you immediately think..."Shit, she's getting sick."
13. Oct. 2012...You can whisper in his ear, refuse to make eye contact with me, and try to walk past my bedroom with a broom all you want too. We still use monitors. I can hear you. I know you just broke a lamp.
14. Oct. 2012...Nothing says "good ole health loving marriage" more than screaming through the shower door to that sexy bald fella..."Eat dog shit".
15. Dec. 2012...'Twas the day before Christmas and all through the house, my kids are being little shits and I've flipped off my spouse. My kitchen is a wreck from flour and red dye, the Christmas CD is skipping and I want to cry. But what to my wondering eyes just appeared, a bottle of chilled champagne to let me know peace will soon be near.

After reading several posts, I felt like there was a pattern present.

My family has been bat shit crazy for quite some time now...at least we have remained consistent over the years.

...birthday party rehab

In five days, I prepared an American Girl slumber party for my middle child. For five days, I secretly felt like I had fallen off the wagon. I could feel the demon growing inside of me. She had been bound and chained for too long. She was free and she wanted to show her ASS. Luckily, medication would mute her sometimes and keep her from going out asking a friend to please come dressed as the American Girl Doll of the Year...Saige. Wtf....really??? What happened to our generation? I remember just having cake and ice cream at parties...no theme, no party food, no games really, and definitely no party favors. I vividly remember sitting and watching my friends open their gifts and hoping that I would be able to stay long enough to play with their shit. I am not quite sure when and why things changed. Cards are no longer written in blank invitations. They have beautiful fonts, pictures, instructions, and rhymes. I know all of this because I am a former Birthdayzilla. Never did I do it to show up other mothers. Something inside of me drove my imagination to act a damn fool and go way beyond what was necessary.

So this week, as I prepared for the party, there was a constant internal struggle on whether the shit was really necessary. Visions of the party popped into my head like I had partaken in a mushroom binge. I have a condition called "I like to make my shit". "Could I build a stage in five days?" "No, wait...what about a photo booth?". Could I make 6 doll sleeping bags in 5 days with no damn sewing machine? What about a table for the dolls they were asked to bring? Wouldn't it be cute to find small party food for them? By the third day, I had visited 4 different stores. The irritation grew and finally I said "get your shit together". I threw tons of parties in the past and never once enjoyed them. I was so exhausted and drained from gluing, building, baking, and painting. I was never really present at these parties either. I was a robot. I had expectations, plans, an agenda, and a schedule. I didn't get to hear the laughter. I didn't see the smiles. I was glued to a camera trying to take pictures. They were never fun for me because I was not THERE...the birthdayzilla was. So, I politely told the beast to get the hell on and I planned a party for my sweet Farryn.....

Despite what you may be thinking, the decorations took less than 3 hours. Paper plates and plastic table cloths can do wonders. As I put up the decorations, I ignored Miss B telling me that "this party better be good". I shocked the SBF by telling him the menu consisted of grilled hot dogs, chips, and Hawain Punch. Our local bakery, Emileighs, did a beautiful job on the cake. They did such a great job that Miss B decided to lick it when I was greeting one of the parents. I quickly fought back the urge to pop her with a rubber band and just smoothed the sides out. The games consisted of a photo booth and writing a wish on a piece of paper and attaching it to a balloon to release in the front yard. I bought 8 balloons. Funny how the balloons for the sexy bald fella and me popped before we got out the door. I guess you can call that f____g reality for you. Overall, Farryn was happy. She didn't see a mother tired, exhausted, stressed with clinched teeth. She saw a mother playing and having fun this time.

My only "muck up" consisted of eating 5 slices of the most delicious cake ever. Yes, I said 5!! I woke up early to get breakfast ready for the girls. I kept it simple cinnamon rolls and strawberries. I was feeling relaxed and sipped my coffee. As I opened the first can of dough, my stomach began to sound like waves crashing in the ocean. Shit!!! The next two hours I spent in the bathroom sweating and cursing the SBF who could not stop laughing at the state I was in. I found the energy to text the parents telling them to take their time because "we were having so much fun!" The SBF finished breakfast for me and got the girls up 30 minutes before pick up time. I cursed myself for a night of over indulgence. WTH was I thinking, but that cake spoke to my soul. I am a sugar whore.

One mother showed up right on time. I apologized for not being ready. Dehydrated and delusional, I confessed that I had diarrhea all morning in front of everyone. By that time, I literally didn't give a shit. She laughed thank goodness. The SBF stood in shock. I staggered back to bed and the doorbell rang again. I mustered up enough strength and answered the door. There stood two Jehovah's Witnesses. Damnit...really? What a coincidence one of the ladies is my "kroger friend". My "kroger friend" works at Kroger and felt we were close enough one time to tell me my haircut was ugly...BITCH! I admit I was getting ready to tell them that I couldn't talk because I had the shits. Of course, I am surrounded by my daughters and their friends. Right when I was going to say "not today"....Miss B holds out her hands and yells "They are just black girls. They are not your mothers." WTF did she just say???? Really???? I took the Watchtowers, gave them a weak smile, and slammed the door. In Miss B's defense, she knows the mothers of all of the girls. Unfortunately, the easiest way for her to explain how she knew for sure these strangers were not coming to pick up our friends was by describing them by race.

Overall, the party was great. One little girl felt very special on her day and that was enough for me. I didn't have to go out and spend a fortune. There was no big production. It was just right for her and where we are in our life right now. I will not be forced to enter rehab...in the words of Amy Winehouse (RIP)..."No! No! No!". For those mothers who are still in the stages of going all out, I applaud you and give you a "do you, boo!!" shout out. I think whether the party is simple or extravagant that we must remember it's a celebration. Celebrations are suppose to be fun and it's okay for the host to have fun too!!! Mom the f_____ on!!!

...MUCK UPS

So, what is a MUCK up??? It's when a mom f____s up. You do something that you regret. You are sure you have damaged your children for life. You have good intentions that backfire. It has happened to us all and if it hasn't it will. Please note that I am not sending out bad vibes to those mothers that have been so very lucky to have not experienced a muck up. I just know that without a doubt it will happen to the best of us because we are human. Just recently my friends and I shared some muck ups to help console another friend who was sure she had damaged her child for life. How comforting it was to realize that I was not alone in the cluster f___k of raising my children. I have had my shining moments where I bowed to the imaginary applause and patted myself on the back. I have also had those dark moments that made me hide in the bathroom while crying and looking in the mirror and asking myself..."What the f____k were you thinking?"

What are my muck ups? There are so many, but I want to share a few for those mothers out there that are tired and weary. The mothers that are hiding in closets in the dark. The mothers that are beating themselves up over the impossible task of trying to never muck up.

• Muck up 1: I watched my oldest stare out of our car window while drooling and telling me she could see little green men because I overdosed her by accident. I am pretty sure other drivers were wondering why I was running off the road and swerving due to panic. 
• Muck up 2: I woke up sleep deprived from breastfeeding when my less than one month old baby fell out of my lap and onto the floor. Her screaming woke me up. I spiraled into mass hysteria, sobbing, and wailing. That event really helped me jump right into post partum depression.
• Muck up 3: I locked my middle child in my car at my dad's house one night. Josh was quick enough to grab the bricks out of my hand before I smashed every window in my car and called 911. The neighbors stood by quietly and watched the fire department open my door. They seem disturbed by my pacing and banshee screaming. Funny how she slept through the entire event while I cried on the shoulder of a fireman.
•  Muck up 4: I caused a mad search at our local candy store. As I was taking orders for ice cream, I noticed my middle child was missing. I gave my youngest who was about 3 months old to a stranger, threw down my purse, and began running up and down the sidewalk screaming her name. My heart raced, tears were streaming down my face, and I could hear the owner of the candy store screaming my child's name while she ran up and down parking lots. I found my middle child locked in the car where I left her. I forgot to get her out. FYI: the SBF was with me also. I looked at my child through the car window while screaming forgive me and she returned a look like "wtf is wrong with you mom? you forgot me." I didn't want any ice cream after that. 
• Muck up 5: I forgot to lock the door one night. I don't think I need to say anything else except what a way to kill the mood. I will confess that the last time a child twisted the LOCKED door...the naked SBF ran across the bed and into the closet. Giggle
• Muck up 6: I took all the Divas on a short trip to a museum and lunch in another town. After Miss B had a shit fit on us in a really nice restaurant and proceeded to scream all the way home, everything went black and I yelled "Shut the f___  up!" My middle child stared out the window all the way home with the weirdest little smirk. Of course, they all informed the SBF of my really really really bad bad word. 
• Muck up 7: I attempted to have a phone conversation regarding a community service activity. I politely asked the young woman to hold on because Miss B was screaming in the background. I thought I put her on mute, but I didn't. So, she got to hear me tell Miss B to "Shut the hell up". Luckily, she laughed.
• Muck up 8: I was given a beautiful old antique door. I was in the process of trying to decide where to put it in my house. I quickly went out and bought a stud finder and secured it to the dam wall after it fell on top of Miss B and flattened her like a sandwich. 
• Muck up 9:  The first time my oldest got really sick and she ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. I was a new mom and did not know that a humidifier needed to be cleaned. I almost sliced my wrists when we brought her home and I decided to clean it and found mold spores growing inside.
• Muck up 10: I cried and begged our dentist to do an Xray on my middle child because she was 18 months old and had no teeth. I was convinced she had no teeth buds and was prepared to chew her food for her for the rest of her life. Of course the Xray, revealed teeth buds and I think she cut her first tooth two weeks later.

Luckily, the older I get the more inclined I am to share my muck ups with other people. I found my confessions bring much laughter to some and to others I sense a plot to contact DHS on me. I just give them a little wink and a "muck you" smile. It is what it is. All of my children are alive and loved immensely. It is because I love them so that I am bat shit crazy. So, some days I win and some days I lose. It's the nature of the beast.

Disclaimer: Let us not judge one another. We are doing our best. Before, I am attacked by the naughty word police. I do not curse my children on a regular basis. Matter of fact, we try our very best not to say naughty words in our house. I save those words for my friends and my blog.