...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...."

...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!"

....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. 

...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.

...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....

...home sweet hell

After traveling 55 mph for 2.5 hours because my vehicle decided to get stuck in 3rd gear, I could not help but to run to our kitchen door upon our arrival home. The SBF and I had gone from laughing uncontrollably to cursing each other out under our breath. It was bound to happen. You put a family of five in a car for 8 hrs and all of the ugliness starts to show. The real ugly. He wanted me to apologize for saying he was acting like Miss B. I wanted him to lick the crack of my ass. Funny how marriage can go from good to bad in a matter of seconds. Just Monday, we were sitting on the beach and laughing. Today, I contemplated staking him like a vampire on True Blood. Only because I love him so much am I able to feel comfortable with such violent thoughts.

Having all girls means that I am stuck on bathroom duty and it sucks ass royally. I don't know how many times I have had to threaten "If you touch something in this bathroom, you hands will rot off. So every time someone has to piss or shit, I am responsible for dragging them into sketchy bathrooms. The last stop was an emergency because Miss B announced she had "die-a-rhea". I run to a bathroom while holding her heavy ass and pleading "try to hold it for mommy" and praying "Dear God, please don't let her shit on me...not today....not on my twerk tank top". I knock on the door and a woman comes out immediately. Startled, I say thank you thinking she must sense the urgency. This bitch had the nerve to say "I don't know why you are thanking me. I am just using the bathroom." I was completely shocked. As I stood over Miss B listening to her once again give me a play by play of what she was dropping in the toilet, I was fighting back the tears. I wanted to go beat the hell out of this lady. I wanted to literally shake the shit out of her. I wanted a slap off contest with this cold heartless bitch that did not sense a mommy on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Did she know how many bathrooms I have had to carry a kid in? How many times I have had to say the hell with it and take my daughters into the men's restroom? In 20 seconds, I had cursed her entire family (past, present, and future). I admit I was searching for her evil ass when we left the bathroom. I wanted to take my "thank you" back. Luckily, I did not find her.

So, we arrive home. Immediately, the girls want to watch TV and we realize that will be the best entertainment to keep them busy while we unpacked. Holy hell.........you have got to be f______g kidding me? What is wrong with the television? After trying to break the remote and a couple of cable boxes, DIRECTV informed me that something happened to a box in my house that will not allow the satellite to send a signal. The lady then informed me that the first date they could get someone out would be July 15th. Now here is where I lost my shit a little. Life flashed before my eyes. 10 days with no TV...no way, no how, not today or any day. I don't let my children veg out in front of the television, but when I need to take a piss the TV helps. I tried to calmly explain that we


had just returned from a rainy vacation and that my sanity depended upon my children being able to watch TV. I ignored the awkward silence that followed. I then went on to tell her about my car trouble. Of course Miss B walks in and asks me "When will you fix the TV mommy?" at which time I yell "I'm trying to. I can't do everything. Mommy does not know magic." I hear more silence and then I hear "Ma'am, do you want to go ahead and schedule a visit for the 15th?". By now the tears are falling and I don't give a shit. I manage to get out a "yes" and asked that she put us on an emergency list in case someone should cancel. I hang up the phone and sit in the middle of the floor. The SBF was out grocery shopping and I'm in the floor crying over not having live TV. I'm crying because he's out grocery shopping and I'm in hell. How dare he? He should be here? Selfish SOB...giggle. Thankfully, the Davis Divas do have access to recorded shows and that's it. 

As I wipe my face and head to the other side of the house, my middle child, comes up to me with a card. My heart melts. Shit...she's so sweet and pure and innocent. Her mom, dad, and sisters are crazy as hell and she accepts us and still loves us. She is the most thoughtful one out of the group. She always says "please" and "thank you". She is known for giving random strangers compliments. Her soul is so pure. I hug the hell out of her and try my best to look like I have it together. She takes on so much and aims to please everyone. I can't let this be her burden to carry. She loves to get money in cards just like her mama and that makes me giggle. I hug her again and make a silent vow to kill anyone that ever hurts her.

The SBF arrives home with the groceries and tries to make light of the television situation. At this point, I am on a roll of I don't give a shit, damn all of y'all, kiss my ass, I quit, and even I want my mama!!! Yep, the gates of hell hath opened up. The sad part is I did the majority of this "bat shit crazy" behavior in hiding. I remember a couple of times when my mom fully lost her shit and some of those times did scar me for life. So, I summoned myself to the closet. I finally manage to get myself together and climb into my bed. Miss B crawls up and decides to ask me for the 100th time "When are you going to get another toe?"....REALLY!!! RIGHT NOW!!! THE SBF walks into the bedroom and she asks him "Are we brown or black?" Holy hell...is she trying to send me off into the abyss?? I start reciting scriptures in my head...the few I know by heart. I even tell myself "you is kind. you is smart. you is important." Nothing is working. The SBF decides to sit next to me and loudly crunch on his salad. Normally, I would be able to ignore the noise coming from his direction, but my senses are heightened. I giggle to myself at the thought of knocking the salad out of his hand. How many damn croutons did he put on his salad? When will the madness ends? He picks up a book from his nightstand and starts f_____g talking to me:

SBF: Ha!! Look at this.
ME: (dear God make him be silent)
SBF: Look what chapter I am on...Beatitude: Lucky are the unlucky.
ME: (dear God forgive me, but I can't do devotional time with him right now.)
SBF: This is not a coincidence.
ME: (why don't you replace that "L" with and "F"...OMG, what is wrong with me. I'm going to hell!)

I muster up enough strength to roll over and stare at the wall. I don't want him to see the red beams that are coming out of my eyes right now. The beams that want to set the book he is holding on fire. And I realize it's that time...."burn party". It is time for me to take my issues to the fire pit on our patio. Judge me if you want, but it is very therapeutic to burn some shit....giggle. Ask my friends, we have had a couple of "burn parties" that involved an ex's t-shirt. I laugh with excitement of what I will toss into the pit. Maybe the beach toys, maybe the atlas, maybe the DIRECTV remotes, maybe my owner's manual to my car...right now my options are endless.

...first day of summer

Cheers to the first day of summer. So far our summer has been a blur filled with pool parties, play dates, hair shaving, period talks, and Miss B experiencing sundowning every afternoon.

 I will first address the hair shaving. My oldest and sweetest and most judgmental child, Reagan, was twirling around with her arms in the air the other day and I noticed hair under her arms. Holy hell. This can't be so. She is only 10. I am a very hairy person and I have flashbacks of my childhood full of little shits tormenting me because I had a unibrow that fanned out on the ends. Yep, I was an Eddie Monster look a like. It didn't help that my arms and legs resembled that of Teen Wolf. I remember one boy telling me in the 7th grade that you could French braid the hair on my legs. I would come home crying. My mother would comfort me by telling me a dark family secret that she knew about his family and I would go to school and repeat it word for word. So, I have a "thing" about eyebrows, hairy arm pits, hairy legs...basically hair in general. I don't have any hair on my body...see how the teen years can mess you up. I am trying not to pass this hair phobia on to my daughters, but honestly they have my genes. My middle child, Farryn, has developed the "fan eyebrows". The same damn ones I had in most of my school pictures. They look like the penguin from Happy Feet.
I confess I have trimmed her eyebrows before after I have watched her try to slick them down with tons of spit. Don't judge me.

I inform the SBF about the hair under Reagan's arms and we look together without trying to scar her for life and decide it's time to shave. I am interrupted by the other two fighting and go check on them. When I return to the bathroom, I find Josh holding a pair of his hair clippers and Reagan looking at me like "oh, shit." I swear I moved like something off of the Matrix and yanked the clippers out of his hand while screaming "What the hell are you doing to her?"  Needless to say, her armpits get appropriately shaved by her mother and I am pretty sure we scarred her for life.

The period talk...times have changed. Girls are getting their periods earlier. We have noticed that Reagan can be moody sometimes and decided it's time to talk to her and her sister Farryn. Yes, we wanted to kill two birds with one stone. The two oldest are close and don't hide much from each other. So, we figured it was best to tell them both. We kept it short and simple. I pray everyday to give me at least three more years before I have to deal with this. Miss B already knows about periods because she is literally up my ass 24/7. I recall having to take her into a public bathroom with me and I know everyone was entertained by hearing her yell..."You be-leeving? You stick it up your butt?" This may be TMI for some, but it's the damn truth. I wanted to push her through the stall door, but I remember my mom telling me how I used to go through the store yelling "Did you get some Koin-tex?" Karma's a bitch.

There are no schedules in our house right now. There are no nap times. So every day from 5:30-7:30 pm this lovely child of mine loses her freaking mine until the sun goes down. Her eyes start to glaze over and the fear I experience is something I will consult my psychiatrist about. Nothing can make this child happy at this point. She has gone to her dark place and those around her will suffer her wrath. She used to stand and scratch the walls while maintaining full eye contact with me. I would sit on the couch and look right back at her thinking to myself this bitch is "loco".

But, she is much more sophisticated now. She's four. She prefers stripping butt ass naked because the clothes she has worn all day just don't work for her anymore. After the third wardrobe change, she moves on to phantom pains. Her legs hurt. The mosquito bite that she has had for three days is killing her. She feels like something is growing out of her arm. As I watch her fling her body up against walls and off couches, I begin googling syndromes. This is my third child. You would think I would know what to do to comfort this monster, but she is so different from my other children. She plays hard, loves fiercely, and is stubborn as hell. Her two older sisters eventually go off to their rooms snickering because her screams have turned into growls. They no longer want to watch her sit in the kitchen floor with tears and snot pouring down her face while she spins in freaking circle. I have tried comforting her. I have tried holding her. Lately, I have had low points where I am screaming back "What do you want from me?" or "Why don't you take a nap". She screams back like some shit off the exorcist "Don't scream at me mommy!" By 7:30 pm, I am sick with exhaustion. I am stuck on a damn couch in the playroom watching her throw shit around and out of nowhere the heavens open up. She looks over at me and I think "Bitch, I am going to have you tested for real this time" And you know what she does......she comes over with her snotty ass clothes and climbs up in my lap and says "Mommy, I love you too much." Aweee...right?? Well, "aweee" my ass at that point. But, I love her too much as well and I hold her tight and all is forgiven. I sit there holding her amidst scattered Leggos, naked dolls, broken crayons and scattered flash cards and I ask myself..."How did I become her bitch?" In reality, I am everybody's "bitch" in this house including the SBF. Oh well, I take a sip of Prosecco and hope that maybe in acceptance there is peace.

I work just two days a week and I have never been so thankful that I do. I admit that on my work days I run out the door like a fugitive. For at least 8 hours, two days a week, I can get the hell out of dodge. Sadly, I sit at my desk the first 30 minutes like I have come off a cocaine binge. I am free of their demands and senseless conversations. Their needs and desires can be met by someone else and I  am okay with that. I confess that some days I take the longest route home possible or I go to a local bar just to sit. The days I do come straight home I find myself digging into my purse like a junkie for that green bottle of happy pills. Yes, I take Xanax. I have a prescription and I have read all of the bad press about mommies and pills. All, I can say to those that care to judge...I could give two shits what you think of me. If you can maintain without the use of medication, yeah for you! You get mad props and a cookie. For those of us that can't, yeah and we get a cookie too. The last time I watched a news special on moms and meds, I was hoping I could call into the show and let them listen to the banshee in the background. But, I knew the entire interview would be full of "bleeps" and screams. Instead, I flip off the news reporter and send my girl Karma after him.

So, cheers to the first day of summer. May your glasses stay full and your prescriptions refilled!!!