...NISSANITY

Where have I been??? Well for the past month I helped raise money for an organization that is dear to my heart. Though the process almost resulted in a straight jacket, everything went well and I have peace with my service.

On a serious note, I am currently suffering from a severe case of NISSANITY!! Yes, I am still dealing with the shitty purchase of a new 2013 Nissan Pathfinder SL. I am currently on my fourth loaner since August 30th and probably on my 7th plan to do snow angels in my own shit in the floor of the dealership. Yep...I said it. This may sound insane, but there is nothing left in me that is "rational" when it comes to Nissan. I swear I saw a Nissan commercial for the new Pathfinder and I blacked out last night. The rage that is inside me is dangerous to say the least. I have tried to break up with Nissan because our relationship is no longer healthy, but they won't let me. They keep pulling me into that damn dealership where I get to see my new car sitting in their garage and I have to listen to the bullshit they vomit all over me. When I began having trouble with the Nissan

Armada they gave to me as my 3rd loaner, I prayed to God to spare them. It took six attempts before the piece of shit would crank. So, I was forced to return to the Hell hole. As I was driving, I promised myself that I would remain calm and not lose my shit. I prayed for their safety as I turned into the dealership on two wheels.

I got out all poised and looking cute and I ran into "Sam I am". Big mistake...because all "Sam I am" knows how to say is "no". Everyone knows my face at the dealership. Most run when they see me coming. "Sam I am" thinks he's a bad ass. My presence does not scare him. He asks me what I am doing here and I kindly reply "The Armada is not working." He shakes his head and says "You are having the worst luck" and the son of a bitch walks off. Nissan has provided me all of my loaners through the Hertz company conveniently located in their facility...fuck-cility...same difference. Poor Daniel at Hertz asked me what was wrong with the vehicle and before I knew it I replied.."The hell if I know. Get your ass up and go check it out". The guys around him giggled and I scolded myself because I was determined to be a lady today. Shit!!! I followed him out and of course the car starts immediately. I reassure him that I would rather be ripped have my asshole and vagina ripped openf from childbirth than come to this dealership. Finally after I watch him crank the damn car twelve times, it starts to show signs of battery trouble.

At this point, word has gotten out that Mrs. Davis is on the property. The service men come from the back to sit and watch. I calmly ask for another vehicle that would accommodate my family. Voila..they have a Tahoe and Surburban. The owner and service manager were both out at the time. So, I had to go talk to "Sam I am". This bastard tells me that they will only pay for me to drive a Nissan and they would not pay for the Tahoe that I decided to rent. I was not shocked because from the beginning he has told me "No". No..we will not give you a new car. No..you can't file arbitration. No. No. No. Well, we have started this cute little way of communicating...When he says "No", I say "fuck". This goes on for quite sometime and I have to give him props for the amount of "fucks" that don't seem to bother him. He suggested I make Hertz put in a new battery. I suggested
he put a new transmission in my new car. He stated the "rules" and how he didn't make the "rules" and it was out of his control. I told him it would be out of my control if I piss in his office. Then I proceeded to share my own rules....

1) Don't let Nissan fuck me over anymore
2) Don't listen to shit "Sam I am" says anymore
3) Don't give 0 fucks about the ruckus I am causing in this dealership.

"Sam I am a fucking asshole" proceeds to tell me what he was not going to do. WRONG MOVE!! At that point, I informed him of all the things he was going to do.

1)He was going to kiss my ass.
2)He was going to go fuck himself.
3)He was going to give me a vehicle off this property or I would bust the windshields out of every car on this lot.

We have a stare down at this point. I have decided that he will fear me. I will pull his "bad ass" card. I'm not a regular bitch. I have had a 24 week 2 day old
baby, cancer, ectopic pregnacy, lightning strike, Spinal headaches, and the death of a mother. I have a will inside of me that does not believe in giving up or taking shit. I was also beat up half of my childhood from numerous bullies. So, I dare an asshole to bully me now. I fight ugly and I don't fight fair. I recall the nurse that tried to deny my surgery to remove my melanoma at a certain hospital. I calmly told her that I was going to take a knife and cut the toe off myself in the the lobby of the hospital that I wanted to have my surgery at. She approved the hospital and I bid her a warm farewell. "Sam I am an asshole" begins to shuffle his paperwork and stops making eye contact with me. Yes.. I screamed "Look at me God Damnit" like a mother scolding her child. I asked him what he would do if this happened to his daughter and he had the nerve to say he would be mad as hell. I respond "I hope this dealership burns in eternal hell fire!!" I know the last statement didn't make much sense, but again my ability to produce logical statements have expired.  All hopes of remaining civil have gone out the window and I just walked the hell out of his office. I do my usual pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage at the zoo and to make it even crazier...I am having a full blown conversation with myself.  I again approach a random stranger and tell her "Don't buy shit from this dealership". I then go to Hertz and tell them if they know what's good for them..they would move their business out of this dealership. I also informed them that if "Sam I am an asshole" said one more word to me I was going to knock all of the gray hair off his wrinkly ass head. The Hertz dealer got a real giggle off of that one.

Minutes later, I find myself sitting Indian style at the entrance smoking a cigarette and leaving frantic 911 messages to the corporate lady that is handling my "case". "Emily this is Timeka Davis...the owner of the pathfinder. This is an emergency. Repeat...this is an emergency. Could you call me because I am currently refusing to leave the dealership because they won't give me a replacement for the broken car they rented to me because it costs more?" I left Miss Emily Peacock 3 voice mails and of course she never responded. The SBF was out of town and had no knowledge of what was transpiring. I didn't even let my good friends know what was occurring because the last time they made me leave to avoid an arrest. I was ready to go all "balls in" up in that bitch. I was free to say and do whatever and prepared to suffer whatever consequences. After, 30 minutes the Hertz guy stated he felt sorry for me and gave me the keys to the Tahoe. He stated he would accept any payment from Nissan. FINALLY...there is still hope in the world. I rushed into "Sam I am"s glass office that would be perfect for throwing bricks through and informed him that I was leaving in the Tahoe. He stated I would be responsible for the charges and I told him he would be responsible for somebody's medical bill if they even attempted to charge me. So, I left with a Tahoe. All day I waited for the cops to show up at my job. I didn't care. I was glad I at least looked cute for my mug shot.

Never have I wanted to choke someone so much. I contemplated shitting in the dealership floor and doing snow angels. I contemplated letting the air out of one tire of each car for everyday I have been without my vehicle. This is where I am in my life....doing shit angels. Never have I wanted to badly to cause bodily harm to individuals. Nothing serious...just punching them in throat or choking them.  Yesterday, I again warned a random stranger very loudly not to buy shit from this dealership. I have had to stop myself from writing on the back of each loaner that I have had. "Nissans ain't shit" seems so logical.

Any self control that I have diminishes when I step foot on that property. I pray so hard to not show my bat shit crazy side, but I hear "No" and I have an outer body experience. I have even shocked myself with my ability to sing in an opera voice..."Fuck y'all. I hate Nissan. Fuck y'all. I hate Nissan"! This was my first new car purchase and they robbed me of any delight or happiness I dreamed of experiencing while driving the Divas around town. Instead I have developed some sort of PTSD that causes me to scream obscenities at the dealership, TV commercials, and any one driving a Nissan Pathfinder. I feel like a homeless person...carrying around my shit all the time because I have no real car to keep my stuff in. Every day, I wake up and wonder if I will get yet another call that will require me to bring the loaner vehicle in to swap out. Fuckers!! I hate them and I know hate is so bad and so below me. So, I start the cycle of praying for patience, peace, and forgiveness and then my mind wanders and next thing I know I am praying for gasoline and bail money. I have even attempted to write several letters to Nissan. Each one starts out..."Words cannot describe" then BOOM!! I have actually typed out how many times they can kiss my ass, lick my ass, and if I had nuts they could lick those too. I even type words like "sons of fuckers" and "your mama can even kiss my ass" and if I had one wish it would be the ability to have lightning strike each one of the mother fuckers in the facility that refuse to work with me. I have experienced a lightning strike...shit hurts like hell. I know...so classy. I can't help it. I have a bad case of NISSANITY!!

During all of this, I can't help but be reminded of my last car ordeal. I was 23 weeks along with my first child and the interior car light refused to turn off. I went to the repair shop for a week because they could not seem to fix it. One week and 2 days later, I gave birth to a 1 lb 8 oz baby girl. Want to talk about putting things into perspective!! I never went back to have my car repaired. I didn't want a working interior light. I wanted my baby to live. So, I just ripped the fuse box out and tossed it in the back seat. I drove for five years without an interior light in my car. It was a reminder to me to keep shit in perspective. Things could always be worse. So, I am trying to hold on to this fact. I am trying to chain it to my soul. I have seen worse. This is just an object used to transport me back and forth. Then I walk by my garage and glance out at another strange car sitting in my garage and I am all.."fuck your mother". The arbitration process has begun for me to get a full refund. I was notified by another corporate person yesterday afternoon. I guess walking off the lot with the Tahoe was the straw. It's going to be a long process..2-4 weeks and Lord help them and keep them safe.

Last night, the SBF and I decided to not purchase a NISSAN. We will cut our ties and take our business elsewhere. I live for the day I can walk off that lot with a check in my hand and scream..."All you mother fuckers can eat my shit!!" I wonder how long this NISSANITY will last. Even knowing I am going to get my money back still does not bring much peace. I want to tell the world..."DON'T BUY A NISSAN!!". I want to start a NISSAN campaign. I want my story to be told and not via the local news station because I have slashed the tires of random Nissan vehicles. I want justice.

So, now we wait for the refund amount to be determined and I pray for their souls if they come back with a number that is not satisfactory. Nashville is only 4 or 5 hours from here. I would be glad to visit corporate face to face. I know they are using all of my recorded phone calls for training purposes. So, they might as well meet the woman in person who would like to shit fire bombs in one of their dealerships.

Speaking of shit...things are getting pretty serious if I didn't even mind the fact that Brooklyn needed to go take 2 shits while eating out for dinner last night. Due to her age, I have to step away from my meal and accompany here to the bathroom. Then listen to her commentary on how many "boo boos" she has left to push out while she grunts and moans and rubs her hand on the toilet seat. The occurrence did not phase me the least bit. I am the shit whisperer.........

...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

...get your freak on

As I crawled into bed at midnight after a day of homework, tumbling, volunteering, and cleaning, I looked over at the SBF. Our conversation went a little like this.....

Me: "Hey, do you want to have sex? Because if so, I need to go take a shower."
SBF: "If you're exhausted, we can just go to bed."
Me: "Well...if you are working from home tomorrow. We can "catch up" then.

Exhausted and happy, I cuddled up to him and he began to sing church songs.

SBF: "Amazing grace...How sweet the sound?"
Me: "WTF is wrong with you. Shut the f___k up! Why the hell are you singing church hymns?"
SBF: "I sing because I'm happy. I sing because I'm free. His eye is on the sparrow. That's the reason why I sing."
ME: "I swear I will punch you in the damn eye if you don't stop singing that shit."
SBF: "You are so going to hell for that." He continues to sing in my ear while he has me in a bear hug.
Me: "Jesus Christ, let me go. I'm going to get in the shower,"

Finally, my Xanax kicked in and I fell asleep. Glad to know I got a pass and a coupon to redeem the next day. I have been with this man for 16 years and I still think he is hot as shit. Our lives have changed so much over the last 16 years, but one thing has remain untouched..."great sex". Confession: I like having sex with my husband. It's free especially now that he has had a vasectomy. It's a stress relief. It doesn't require a babysitter. It's a form of communication when words just don't work anymore. I know for some this may be too much information, but I think it's an aspect of our lives as women that we don't talk about enough.

I love the shit out of the SBF, but I don't like him sometimes. Marriage is hard...any relationship is hard. People will change and grow. I look at him daily and ask myself "wtf was I thinking?" I have contemplated writing up divorce papers just for the months of October-February because I live with a cheap man that protests any holiday that Hallmark celebrates. I have wished to just "break up" for a couple of weeks. During those times when I think I may not be able to cohabitate safely with that man of mine, he will come out of the shower and I'll be damned if he stirs something in my soul that reels me back in. It is animalistic...a primal sensation that tells me I must mate with that man.

It has been that way since the first time I talked to him. There was no long courtship. There was no "whooing". I was an easy kill because I chose to be. Fast forward 16 years later and 3 kids, so much shit has changed in our lives. We have had one thing remain constant..."great sex". I protect it because I feel that is all we have left that has not been stripped from us. Age, jobs, children, finances, housework, homework, community service, and just f_______g life have given us a run for our money. But, we have one thing to fall back on when the shit hits the fan. I like to get laid and he does too. Plain and simple.

I have had many roll their eyes at me and almost gasp at the thought that I am having sex with my husband. My question: "Wth would I not????" I may not make the time to tell him I love him every day or give him a hug and a kiss when he walks out the door. I may not even make the time to communicate with his ass during the day, but when that bedroom door closes...dammit I am ready to "talk"!! Sometimes the best solution to an argument is to just f___k it out.

I am not in anyway trying to boast, but if I could give one piece of advice it would be "Ladies, get your freak on." I think society has screwed us with these images of "relations" entailing candles, soft music, massages, and pretty lingerie. BULLSHIT!! There can be a hell of a lot of romance in locking the bedroom door, stripping down and saying "we have 20 minutes before the kids wake up!" I grew up on soap operas and I thought that every sexual encounter with my husband should have "Tonight, I celebrate my love for you..." I would like to thank Days of our Lives for giving me an unrealistic view of what the bedroom action should be like. I am not afraid to admit that sometimes it goes a little something like this..."Hey, ya wanna do it?" Or better yet the idea that these encounters must take place in a beautiful bedroom with clean sheets and shit is again...BULLSHIT!! There is nothing wrong with finding an alternative location...closets, laundry room, car in the garage, and bathroom. There are no off limit locations. AND we do not have to have a full lingerie set up, flowing hair, freshly shaved legs, and full make up!!

I call him the SBF because to me he is. It keeps the fire burning inside. Confession: I still think he is hot shit. Now, that does not mean I don't think he's an asshole, dumb ass, son of a f____r, piece of shit, bastard, asshat, dream killer, and Debbie downer sometimes. He can be all of those things in one day, but somehow his confidence or presence or f_____g pheromones still speak to me when night falls. Let it be known that I call myself a "MILF" or "golden". Why?? Because if I don't think so, who in the hell else will??? What we must have is confidence that "We are the shit!!"....MAMA STILL GOT IT!!! The sexier we feel about ourselves the better sex will be for us. I promise. We are sitting on a pretty fine treasure...literally. We are golden in every sense. I know we are mothers. I know we are a wives. I know we have deadlines. I know we are tired. In honor of my favorite movie...Friday, "I know this ladies....but Imma get you laid tonight". Why? Because we freaking deserve it!!!! The world would be a better place if more of us would just get laid. Giggle

There is an unspoken intimacy in sex that can take place that can work miracles on a marriage. Tensions decrease. Requests to clean up are met. His dirty ass socks on the floor don't seem so bad. Arguments over how much you spent at Target sort of fade into the distance. Calories are worked off. For the most part, I get a glimpse of that fella I met in 1996. I get to see my best friend...not my husband, not the father of my children, but my buddy. I see the reason why all of this shit started in the first place. I see how I got here and why I am still here.

So, as a mother, wife, PTA mom, volunteer mom, and former Parent of the Year (giggle), I send you forth with permission to be a woman in the streets and a freak in the sheets.





 

...just say yes

Public service announcement:

I am an advocate for prescription medications. Circumstances in my life have occurred that require the assistance of medication. Pristiq and Xanax have worked well in my life over the last two years. Am I ashamed? Hell no!!! Life can suck ass sometimes and breathing in and out just won't fix it. Lately, I have read articles where asshats are going in on moms who take medication. They are afraid there is a pill epidemic. How about there is an "I'm tired as shit" epidemic. By the time I finished the article, I was pissed. I wanted to send an email to the writer full of real naughty words along with an attached video of Miss B having a shit fit because she can't tie a bow around her doll's head. Or maybe they would like to see the three Divas have a cat fight over a blue damn marker. But I decided to be the better person and take my pill and ignore the nonsense. The nerve of some to judge us. Everyone has their own struggles and coping mechanisms. My coping mechanism is provided by the good ole folks of Pfizer.

Many say that present day mothers are using medication as a cop out and mothers back in the day didn't need medication...blah...blah...blah. Those bitches weren't happy. They were faking it. Holding strong to some f____g rule that motherhood was never hard and always rewarding. Putting on fake ass smiles like they had their shit together only to be rewarded by little Johnny smearing shit on the bathroom walls.

I think times are changing. More mothers realize that it's okay to just say yes. Yes, my kids make me want to punch myself in the face. Yes, I have contemplated slashing my husbands tires before a night out with the fellas. Yes, I have screamed back at the little shit screaming in the car because it wants ice cream for dinner. Yes, I have given my kids a box of cookies just so I could zone out on the couch. Yes, I have gone days without showering. Yes, I have watched my child spill an entire cup of juice and walked away like nothing happened. Yes, I take the long way home when I get to ride in the car by myself. And yes, I take medication to keep from going apeshit in the carpool line because the jackass in front of me cut me off. Yes, yes, yes!!!

I take medication so that I will come home from the grocery store and not follow the highway exit marked "Freedom". I take medication to keep me from verbally abusing the Best Buy Geek squad guy for his "judging look" when I sort of push Miss B.'s head off of me. He doesn't know my struggle. He doesn't know this bitch touches me with her nasty ass fingers all day. I take medication because the people that have my heart drive me crazy on a daily basis. I think some fear the use of medication will have them walking around like a zombie. I beg to differ. I am more present than ever before. There is a clarity that is offered to me when the food has burned, the kids are whining and the SBF is out of town. I am able to see through the smoke and tears and realize that the world has not come to an end and that this moment of hell shall pass. I am a much better mom....not a perfect mom because I am not Jesus. But, I am a better mom.

For those who can function without medication, I applaud you and give you a high five. My personality and expectations out of life will just not allow it. I never knew how much I liked silence until I had children. I never knew how much I liked objects to stay in their assigned places until I had children. I never knew how much I liked to be alone in my thoughts. Everyday it's a constant struggle to make what I like fit in my life with my Divas. What in the hell happened to my wants, needs, desires, and aspirations? I tried saying the hell with it and giving them all of me....shoving all of my needs into a little box. As time passed, my little box became a ticking time bomb. "Life shit" happened on top of just being a mother and Boom!!!!!!! I am in a strange doctor's office crying hysterically and repeating "I don't know why I am crying, but I can't stop and I'm sorry". I cried to the nurse. I cried to the receptionist. I cried in the waiting room to any stranger that would make eye contact with me. By the time, I saw the doctor I was a snotty f_____g mess. His first question "Are you okay?". My response, "I'm fine". Like a Stepford wife, I responded with my go to phrase. "I'm fine". What I should have said then was "I'm a fine piece of complete fuckery."

Well, my yellow brick road lead me to a psychiatrist. Why people are afraid to say they see a shrink is complete nonsense!! I get to visit someone who only wants to hear about me and my life and my issues and my struggles. Hallelujah!! I have an insane love for the three Divas and the SBF. Their souls are intoxicating and I am addicted to them. That addiction though causes me to lose myself. I can't make them my all and everything. It's not fair to them or to myself. I have let go of all the beliefs that I cannot have a world outside of them. I have let go of the idea that motherhood is always rewarding. I have to let go of the guilt I carry when I don't want to play f_____g barbie dolls, but instead I want to watch shitty reality TV.

So, there are circumstances in my life that I cannot change right now and until then I will gladly accept a prescription that will allow me to maintain. Hell, I drink coffee in the morning to give me a boost or kick to get my day going. So, I take a little pink pill to keep me from singing a song in the car while bussing the three Divas around called "Shut the f____up, Shut the f_____up. Please, oh please, shut the f_____k up." I don't have my shit together like I want, but I am at least keeping my shit together. The blocks are not all in a row perfectly alphabetized, but they are in a basket. Everyday I just try not to drop my basket.

So wherever your yellow brick road takes you on the journey of motherhood.......
just "Do you boo!"

...do overs

School has basically started back for the Davis Divas and there is peace in the valley. No more whining about being bored. No more of me sitting in a stinking ass bouncy place for 5 hours just to entertain them. No more constant contact with three little shits that have failed to realize that my life cannot revolve around them. The last few days of summer had become quite unhealthy. Brooklyn and I got in an argument over the use of the word "fucka". She told me she was only saying it to inform me that "fucka" was a bad word. Well, the little bitch likes to repeat herself 10 times.

Miss B entered the world of PreK today and I have said many prayers for her. Her spirit is untamed. Her PreK teacher taught the two oldest Divas and I have given her fair warning that she is of a different kind of blood. Her manners are slow to come and her negotiating skills are intense. During Open House, I watched the other parents showing their kids around with such joy. Their little ones ran around eager to take it all in. Miss B looked around, took her snack, and kept informing me she was ready to go. I pray her lack of enthusiasm was due to the fact that she had been up and down those halls with her sisters. I pray.....

I had her perfect dressed picked out and her favorite headband. Her monogrammed backpack was full of requested supplies. Damn!! I was doing good. The more kids you have. The more opportunities to muck up. It is humanly impossible to have all three happy at one time. So this morning as the middle one whined about not liking her hair and the oldest informed me that her brand new tennis shoes were too small, I gave zero fucks. Miss B was happy and that's all I could manage. I scrambled to get a picture of her holding her "first day of preschool sign" and only screamed twice to please look at the camera and smile. 

I sent them on with the SBF to be dropped off at their designated locations. I hate car pool lines and was running late. Miss B's PreK schedule is not a full day. So, she will catch a bus from her daycare to her elementary school in the mornings and will be dropped off at daycare after lunch. A community service project had me up till 2 am. So, I was functioning in a serious fog of sleep deprivation this morning. But, I knew the bus would pick her up at 8:30 am and planned to be there with my camera and my tears and my well wishes. 

At approximately 8:00 am, the SBF sent me a picture of my baby getting on the fucking school bus. Everything went black and I dropped my phone. "Fucka!!!" I was in route to the daycare!!!! I am pretty sure the passengers in their vehicles on the highway were concerned about the crazy lady screaming foul words and violently shaking her steering wheel. I didn't give a shit at that point. The tears started flowing. I started howling over a dropped Xanax that fell on my floorboard somewhere in my car (don't worry...I found the bitch). I had gone to a dark place. 

My reaction may be a little over the top for some. But I have never missed the first day of PreK bus ride.  I have been there. I am always there. I was there when she entered the world and she ripped my ass from one hole to the next (I know TMI). I was there when she projectile vomited yellow shit that I swore was bile the first week of her life. I was there when she was known around town as the "most bow legged, pigeon toed" baby ever. 

I know it sounds childish for me to think it doesn't count if I didn't see it, but it doesn't. I want a do over. I needed to be there to tell her to use her "nice" words and good manners. I needed to tell her that she could not demand somebody to come wipe her ass. I needed to to tell her to please call the teachers by their names and not "the white one" or "the black one". I needed that little shit to hug the life out of me, so that I could put life into her. I needed to mark her with my scent..."my crazy ass mama who will choke the shit out of anyone that dares to hurt her untamed soul" scent. 

I am thankful that the SBF sent me pictures. I have studied them like some shit off a CSI episode to see if there was a slither of fear in her eyes or sadness in her heart...for I will kill anyone that hurts her. 

...Take My Breath Away

I'm an 80's baby and the movie Top Gun was probably one of my favorite movies. After watching it as an adult, I am not quite sure if my mother made an appropriate choice. Giggle. I also memorized every word to every Prince song at a very early age. I don't judge her though. She was 16 when she had me. She was a flower child, free spirited, and gracious woman with a raunchy sense of humor and the mouth of a sailor. I know everyday she looks down and laughs her ass off at me. Karma is a bitch.

Anyway, the song Take my Breath Away on Top Gun, was my shit!!! I would sit and sing that song and dream of the day when my man would come and "Take My Breath Away". Today, I would like to announce that I want my "breath" back. I did not know the SBF fella would come into my life with his good looks and killer smile, impregnate me, and leave me with a small army of "breath takers". Somehow, I have allowed this little family of mine to believe that my only job in life is to be there for them at all times. The sick twisted bipolar part of this agreement is that I want them to know that I am here at all times no matter what...just not if I am taking a shit, putting make up on, taking a  shower, watching an adult movie, napping, driving the car, talking to a friend, answering emails, surfing the web, reading a book, painting, or eating. During those few and far between times listed above, I would like the ability to do so in peace.

My bedroom is my favorite part of this house. It is the reason we bought this house. I envisioned long days of peace and solitude. Well the SBF has opened up his office in our master bedroom and brought a bookshelf, desk, and futon with him. The three Divas have started this new game called "I'm going to flip off the couch onto the futon and do a triple hand spring onto the ground until mom loses her shit." They have so many rooms created in this house just for their pleasure. Right now, a gigantic Barbie doll house is sitting in our bedroom. I guess the playroom was just not the place for it anymore. WTF don't they play in the other rooms. Instead, they all pile in our bed and watch TV, play games, read books, and just f___k with me. Miss B rubs my arm until I begin to hyperventilate. Then the fighting starts. There is not enough room in the bed for all of us. So the "Stop touching me. Get your feet off of me. I'm hot. Stop farting. Don't lick me." game begins. I patiently suggest they move over and be nice to each other and to please stop jumping because mommy is going to vomit, but they don't listen. After one hour, I go complete ape shit.

The shit that comes out of my mouth makes no sense either. All they can make out is "shit........licking......stop.......hell......why.......go..........where's your daddy........get out." They then have the nerve to turn around and look at me like I have lost my mind. I know whatever just came out of my mouth did not make any sense, but at that point I CAN'T BREATHE. I wish I had a panic button in my room that I could hit that would literally scare the hell out of them and cause them to go running for cover. Better yet (for you True Blood lovers), I wish I could rescind my invitation to my bedroom. They are always breathing my air. I swear I get so hot and sweaty because so many individuals are around me breathing on me all of the time. After my "episode", I sit and think about the damage I have probably caused to their beautiful souls. The guilt takes over and I get up and decide to go check on them. I step out of bed and DAMNIT to hell...I don't know which pain is worse a LEGGO or a Barbie doll shoe. I proceed to whisper profanities and go get the vacuum. The joy I have sucking up their toys that I beg them to put away brings me great delight. My middle one runs to our bedroom door and just stands there with a weird smile like "holy hell...mommy is crazy." Miss B decides to join her and as soon as I cut the vacuum off she says "Can we come back now?" My oldest may be the smartest one ,even though, she has walked into many of walls. She retreats and finds something else to do. It never fails that 45 minutes after my "episode" and I have cleaned our room, cut the TV off,  made the bed, and decided to jump in the shower...I open the bathroom doors and there they sit like f_____g puppies. They are wrestling, giggling, rolling around on the floor, and the TV is back on. I walk to my closet without making eye contact and sit there with the door closed.

Did this happen today? Yes. Did this happen yesterday? Yes. I have the leading role in the movie Groundhog Day. And guess who's birthday is in fact on Groundhog Day???????? Ding. Ding. Ding. Pick me. Pick me. Isn't that ironic? Don't you think? I have seriously contemplated putting on my snorkel mask when I am trying to hang out in our bedroom in hopes that I will be able to get some air. They would just think it's a game and beg me to go find their masks and I would end up sitting in a bed with three kids and crying with a damn snorkel mask.

I know the end of summer is approaching and school will start. I will get back some of my free time. Lately, when the SBF comes home, he asks "What did y'all do all day?" I quickly answer "I tried not to suffocate." I know he secretly thinks this is all my fault. They don't do this to him. So, I must be encouraging this kind of behavior. Maybe I am. At this point, I don't know what the hell is going on. I do know that when school starts and he comes home and asks me what did I do on the three days I don't "work"...I will remember these moments and instead of making up something like I cleaned or reorganized the closets. I will loudly respond "NOT SHIT!"

...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.

....Wife Duties

I was loafing around on Pinterest the other day and came across a friend's pin. This is an article supposedly from an Econ book in the 1950s. I literally almost shit my pants from laughter and shock. I swear the mother smiling in the picture looks like she is baked and secretly telling her husband to go f____ himself. The children look like they are playing the game "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." The photo itself screams dysfunction. The words typed below scream borderline human trafficking. I would pay money to bitch slap the author of this piece of work. Even if this article is fake, there is a hidden message that I feel has been passed down from generation to generation. The message being surrender yourself to becoming someone else's bitch for the rest of your life and love doing it because it is your job.

After I wiped the tears away from laughing and choking, I started to think about my home life. The three days I am with the Divas all day are pretty scary. The fighting, screaming, crying, and whining can be brutal to my mental health. How many times can you plead with them to sit down and stop it? Some days, I totally understand what may drive someone to try Meth. Don't judge me....I have a four year old whose only speed is "hard". She screams hard. She hits hard. She laughs hard. She scratches hard. She bites hard. She talks hard. She loves hard. She has no middle. She is either full throttle or sick. By the time the SBF comes home, I'm speaking softly alright. I am whispering that he can go to hell if he leaves me one more day with his children. As he tosses them around on a bed that I just made, I try not to scream as I watch my pillows get tossed on the floor. The sheet from my once perfectly made bed has become a parachute. The children are filthy and I grimace as their dirty ass feet prance around the bed as he sings with them. There is no food cooked because they have eaten shit all day. The dishes are dirty. The washing machine is rocking back and forth like a space ship because I am washing the 12 towels used to clean up spills that day. The only thing fresh on my body is the booger that Brooklyn wiped on my shirt. I stand there at the bedroom door and I just look at them. Every once in a while, I see the beauty in the moment. They love their daddy so, but most of the time I stand there toying with the definition of abandonment or how bad is a place with padded walls. I wait for my turn to be interesting for him alright. I inform him that his daughter must have a tape worm because she digs in her ass all the time. The other daughter walks into walls on a regular basis. And his third daughter refuses to embrace the importance of deodorant.

I am pretty sure this guide lead to a constant sense of failure and lack of fulfillment because it's unattainable. There are not enough brainwashing techniques out there to convince a mother/wife this is their destiny in life. So, I started thinking of a guide for the mother/wives of the 21 century.

1. Prepare yourself by having a cocktail at 4 pm & again at 5 pm. Drink the cocktails very fast. This will cause you to feel refreshed and gay. The stronger the cocktail, the easier it will be to pretend to listen to him talk about his day. He will sound like the Charlie Brown teacher and eventually mute.
2. Grab all of the toys, leggos, crayons, paper, clothes, dolls, cars, and shoes and toss them in the backyard. If he decides he would like to retire on the patio and relax, he will have the most beautiful display of chaos in the backyard.
3. You are not crazy no matter what they say or how they look at you when you start slinging pots in the kitchen. So, while cooking make sure to slam enough doors to scare the shit out of them. This will hopefully give you a couple minutes of silence.
4. When he walks in the door, punch him in the throat immediately. This will allow him to feel the choking sensation you were succumbed to all day because your children won't listen.
5. If he comes home late or suggests that he is going to meet the fellas after work, light a fire and line up all of his shit in the living room.
6. Be so interesting when he comes home that he will wonder if you drank more than just a bottle this time. Note: hide the bottles. The less he knows the better.
7. Wait outside with the children when it's time for him to come home. As soon as he pulls in the drive way, return to the house and deadbolt the door.
8. Hide the remote before he comes home. When he settles down to zone out to 5 recorded episodes of PTI, he will get the exercise he needs searching for the remote. Remember you need a healthy provider.
9. When he falls asleep before the children are bathed and the dishes are washed, pick up his phone and change his ringtone, text message alerts, and email alerts to every Disney Princess theme song. This will keep him alert and on his toes.
10. Know your place....you are the glue that holds all of the shit together. The good shit and the bad shit and for this you deserve the world.

I know many will read this and think "she wouldn't....". Well if I had to pick between the two guides, pretty sure the last one meshes with my domestic capabilities. 

...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.

...Eating my words

Aging and my last child have taught me to be very cautious with the words I say, the judgments I make, and the advice I give. In this stage of my life, I am the mother and friend who says "Do you boo!" because I have eaten so many of my words. Everything I said I wouldn't do...I have done. Every event I said I would not participate in...I have been front row center cheering with pom poms and shit. So, payback is a bitch in my life. Miss B is everything I said I would not tolerate. My home décor is slowly fading and being replaced by toys, books, dolls, and crayons. I have lost myself in motherhood. I don't know my favorite color anymore. I know my oldest likes purple, my middle child likes pink, and my youngest likes pink. I have no desire to learn or grow in my career. I bribe my children. I whisper sweet negotiations in their ears to avoid public meltdowns. I am everything I thought I would not be....giggle!

Karma, exhaustion, and mental anguish have taught me to keep my mouth SHUT. The "I would never...." statement has been erased from my vocabulary. I have also learned to thine own self be true and that lying takes too much energy and my version of "my life" is much better told by me. So, I strive to not "fake the funk". What you see is what you get and boy oh boy is it all kinds of crazy (note a consistent crazy). Anyway, I try to call myself out on my shit and TODAY IS THAT DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

What brought on this self evaluation/reflection today? A damn birthday party......

I confess that I was that mother. I would pick a theme for birthday parties and spend weeks making shit. I didn't do it for some Great Mom Award. I did it because I love crafts and I have some serious OCD tendencies. 

It took years of 3rd degree burns from my glue gun, fights with the SBF, not sleeping for days, crying over failed craft ideas, screwing up recipes, and a dysfunctional family to finally say the hell with it and let's just take a trip instead. Check out the evidence before I decided to stop the madness!!

Exhibit A

 Exhibit B

 Exhibit C

All I possess now is a strong dislike towards birthday parties. Confession: I hate them. I'm over them. I am burnt out. Many of these feelings are my own doing. I didn't have to make 20 pinwheels out of construction paper. No one asked me to soak stationary in tea and burn the edges, so that; the princess invitations looked authentic. I did all of this before the luxury of Pinterest...thank goodness. It was a fun madness that would consume me for weeks. Now, I don't judge those that go all out for birthday parties because I used to do it. I don't judge parents who show up with all of their kids at a birthday party because I have 3....sometimes they are package deal. I don't judge the parents that drop their kids off and leave because I do that also.

Well, the buying of a new car cancelled a birthday trip for my Farryn, my middle child, my "her heart is so giving that I will kill someone if they hurt her" child. She is truly golden, but she has some serious middle child issues. So, when she asked me last night if she would ever have a party again. Shit...the guilt emergency lights started going off!!! Holy hell, what have I done to her??? I must give this child a birthday party.

So guess who is having an American Girl Slumber Birthday Party in less than 5 days?? I could bitch slap myself. I vowed to never look at another American Girl Doll after my incident in Atlanta. So again...wth?? I am praying that this very small impromptu slumber party does not bring out the demons inside of me. I am praying that I will not visit Pinterest for ideas. I pray that I can indeed keep it simple. This will be a challenge. I feel like I have been through rehab and I am about to fall off the wagon....but wouldn't it look so cute to have a cake made like an American Girl shopping bag?? Maybe, I can make Farryn the "Doll of the Year"....wouldn't that be a cute poster???

Sugar Honey Iced Tea. What the hell is wrong with me? 

...meditations and medications

It's after midnight and Miss B had a bad dream. She is snuggled up next to me and my heart melted just a little. Forgotten is the afternoon of her screaming like a lunatic because she wanted her sisters to tell her who to pretend to be. I wanted to suggest..."How about you not be a little ass right now?" The days are starting to run together and just yesterday I realized school starts in one month. For a split second, I was weary of what was to come. I do believe that it is time for the Divas and I to not spend so much time together, but I am in no way ready for homework, projects, carpools, and shit. There has been no schedule this summer which I think has contributed to the psychosis in our house. For the last week, Miss B wakes up crying, whining, angry, and just plain pistified!! This is my third child, I should know how to handle this, how to comfort her, how to distract her, and how to not reinforce this behavior. So far, I just stand over her with 4 boxes of cereal screaming "You ate all the marshmallows out of the Lucky Charms!!! Pick something else."


This child is seriously still connected to me by an invisible umbilical cord. Confession, I am a night owl. I stay up late to do chores, crafts, blog, watch TV, and just sit in quiet. Lately, I have sacrificed sleep just to rise before the monsters wake up with their demands. I just want to drink my coffee in peace. Miss B has installed a f____g device in me that alerts her when I am up and moving around no matter how quiet I am. Instead of greeting me in the mornings with a kiss and a hug, she comes at me like I'm her bitch. She then attempts to crawl back inside of my womb. I quickly reach for my meds and pray that they will kick in before I shit myself in the kitchen. For about 2 hours, this child proceeds to throw shit, scream, demand Coca Cola for breakfast, strip down, and wrap her naked body around my leg while I am making her cereal.

This happens 96% of the time. Funny, how everyone else in the house sleeps through these manic episodes. By the time they get up, I am exhausted.. They wonder why I am walking around with red beams shooting out of my eyes. They wonder why I have snot all over my PJ's (Miss B likes to use my PJ's instead of tissue). My eye is twitching and you can sense that I am about to reenact a scene from Mommie Dearest. The SBF kisses my forehead and says "Rough morning?" I imagine jabbing him in the nose, but instead I smile and sip my coffee (Bailey's with a little coffee). It is obviously his damn genes that cause this behavior. I am way over blaming every behavior my child exhibits on me. Sometimes their "shit fits" having nothing to do with my parenting style. They are very selfish little people with their own minds and agendas. Miss B prefers to eat her boogers. I had nothing to do with that shit and refuse to take responsibility for it. I think so many people see children misbehaving and look at the mothers who are trying their best to keep their shit together and judge them...label them as failures in the "how to teach your kid not to strip down in Wal-Mart" section. We must take into
consideration that these little people have a mind of their own. I don't like boogers. So, I am sure as hell not gonna take the blame for Miss B eating them.  The little old ladies in the grocery store love to stop and tell me "You have got your hands full" (translation: Dear, do you realize one child has her dress over her head and the other one put her mouth on the the shopping cart handle?)

So, once again I have found myself reading

 Meditations for Mothers of Toddlers.

Shit is serious when I have pages bookmarked with sticky notes.

I would like to share a couple of topics and "jumping off statements" to take with you throughout the day:

1. BURNT OUT MOTHERS: I am a loving mother. But if I hope to be a constant source of love and affection, I must spend some part of each day giving to myself. (My translation: It is okay to tell your children you have diarrhea and you are going to stink. This will allow you time to play on your smartphone or read a book or stare off into space.)
2. APPLES AND ORANGES AND PINEAPPLES: I will trust in my own abilities as I mother three very different little individuals. (My translation: It is okay to be at peace with the thought that one of them may be a little "different" or "special. I will no longer question if this one is ours").
3. SLEEP DEPRIVATION: Sleep is essential to my well-being. If I can't get what I need during the night, I need to schedule time to rest during the day. (My translation: I will no longer try to hide the fact that I take naps during the day from the SBF. I will also not feel one slither of guilt for putting in a movie for the Divas, telling them to not wake me unless they are on fire, and taking at least an hour nap.)
4. SUMMERTIME: My family will have to adjust and readjust to new routines. If I remain flexible, I can keep us on track and enjoy the flow. (My translation:#B.D.K.M.V).

So, as the end of summer approaches and the chaos of back to school begins, take time to remember....

...Twerk Tank

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