...Crazy mom seeking cheer

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

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

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

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

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


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


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




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

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

...Channel 0

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...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. 

...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!"

...Throwback Thursday

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

Throwback Thursday
Status Updates

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

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

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

...birthday party rehab

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

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

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

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

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

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

...MUCK UPS

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

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

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

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

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

...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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...vacation hangover

Today, I literally crawled into work. I am normally greeted by strange looks from my coworkers. I only work two days a week and I can sometimes be a human resources nightmare, so I am never shocked by their looks. BUT today, I knew I looked like shit. I was disoriented, sleepy, and angry.

I looked like I had been out all night. I secretly wished I could share some story of how I got shit faced and passed out and literally just rolled out of bed. It took me two days to unpack from our vacation and get some order back to our house. PLUS...we have no live TV, so it's very f_______g quiet right now in our house...too quiet and my SUV broke down. The Divas have decided to sit up under me for going on 48 hrs. They have 2 bedrooms, a playroom, and a living room. I find it very hard to share my bedroom with 3 girls and 9 American Girl Dolls. Get the hell out!!! My energy is drained and my ability to talk to people in a nice way has gone to shit.

Anyway, I sat at my desk wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I knew I was a little off because I forgot to get my Xanax refilled before the holiday/weekend, but this was some serious irritation.

As I sipped my coffee and aggressively tapped on my keyboard in efforts to respond to a massive amount of emails, I finally realized what was going on......VACATION HANGOVER!!!

Damnit to hell!!!! That's it...I then found the perfect definition of Vacation Hangover compliments of Urban Dictionary:

The pain of returning to the reality of your real life after experiencing a vacation you wish was your real life.

Sufferers of Vacation Hangover will often feel anger or resentment within the first week post vacation and question the decisions they have made leading them to where they are and the things they do on a daily basis.

They may find themselves daydreaming of a different life, lingering nuggets of joy from memories of where they were or what they were doing on vacation.

Sufferers might even try to invent imaginary ways to make the vacation life they were living a reality. Only to find themselves more miserable than they were before they even left on vacation to begin with.

An example of vacation hangover is when a mother and father of 3 small children go on vacation without the kids. They visit Tokyo! They sleep in, eat amazingly fresh sushi, attend a Japanese Punk Rock concert, take naps in the middle of the day, and eat their fabulous meals at odd times.

The parents return to their regular lives. The father is working 80 hours a week at a meaningless job he hates. The mother is mopping pee off the bathroom floor, breaking up sibling rivalry, and cleaning up a sloppy diaper while slathering rash cream on her baby's sore bottom. The baby screams in pain, someone else throws a toy at Wife's head, and another child is crying because the computer isn't playing the RIGHT kind of train movie.

Both parents really enjoyed their time in Tokyo and struggled returning cheerfully to their real life.

I was at peace when I realized I was not alone. Alright, I know what I have. Now, how the hell do I get rid of it???? I have come up with a list that I offer to you to help with vacation hangovers:

10 VACATION HANGOVER CURES: 

(shit I should have done instead of staring off into space about car and cable issues).

1. Do not go back to work on a Monday after a vacation. You will not get shit done anyway. So stay at home and nap. Enjoy your home. Find the beauty in it again.
2. Find a happy hour to visit after your first full work day. If you have been sipping Mimosas on the beach for 5 days straight, your body is going through shock. You need a drink!!
3. Unpack as soon as possible. The longer your luggage is out...the more it will remind you of the fun you had.
4. Change your sheets ASAP. You have been snoozing on more than likely a pretty comfy white bed. Clean sheets will calm the soul. It's a way of tricking your body into thinking it's in a hotel.
5. Post your vacation pictures as soon as possible. This will always accelerate the transition. You will notice little bolts of energy. If you wait too long, you will get f_______ depressed looking at them.
6. Stay away from anyone who seems like they are remotely happy about you being back from vacation. They didn't miss you. They want you back to suffer in REALITY.  Your senses will pick up on this and you will want to punch them in the face.
7. Ignore your inner voice that is asking "What do you want to do with your life?" This is not a voice of reason. This is a fictional what if Santa Claus was real voice.
8. Find something to laugh about. I swear I spend numerous hours a day searching Pinterest humor, Blunt cards, and Some ecards when I need a good laugh. Today: I watched numerous Kevin Hart videos and thought I would piss myself from laughing so hard.
9. Please find activities for your children. The busier they are...the more rest you get. No child wants to see mom go ape shit because she just heard someone say they were bored. 
10. PLAN ANOTHER TRIP ASAP 

If this does not help any, I recommend you make a batch of Mother's Cure. See post titled "Mother's Cure" for recipe.