..."F**k it. It's spring break."

I grew up spending many of my spring breaks engrossed in the "MTV Spring Break" series. I would spend all day watching young people dance, party, and enjoy life to the fullest. Well, I would like to take this moment to thank MTV for giving me such a false sense of what would become "my reality". I envisioned graduating high school, going to college, and spending my spring break participating in debauchery at it's finest. BULLSHIT...In college, I was in the minority called "broke as shit". So, I
spent my spring breaks either working or sleeping. I felt somewhat cheated, but I saw light at the end
of the tunnel. I graduated college and moved on to graduate school. Well, I was even more broke. Dammit!!! I still held on to hope. I graduated, got married, and entered the workforce. Hallelujah!!! I had money and the SBF to party with. MEXICO...here we come. BULLSHIT...I didn't know that you had to have shit called "personal leave" that you had to accumulate. So, I patiently saved my "personal leave to rock out with my cock out"...only to use every damn hour I banked on the first Diva. F**K!!! What the hell happened and I was broke again. F**K you MTV. F**K you.

I have been very fortunate over the last years to have a very flexible work schedule. So, when spring break hits...I'm all like..."woohoo, hell yeah!!! let's par-tay!!" It always fails to occur to me that these three little bitches will be so selfish that they only want to do shit that makes them happy. This year, I was faced with spending spring break without the SBF. So, I decided to get the hell out of dodge with the three Divas in tow. If we were going to fight, argue, and cry, we were not going to do it at home. A different environment would do us all some good. I began frantically searching for a "family friendly" location that I could drive too. Chattanooga, TN would be our spring break poison. I booked a Victorian train car to stay in, researched the town, and typed out an itinerary of activities. We were out this bitch!!! In hindsight, I am thankful that a friend offered to tag along with her four year old son.

The day before we left, my OCD was in full force. I had stocked the cooler with grapes, orange slices, chocolate milk, Coke Zeros, water bottles, and mickey mouse shaped cheese slice. I spent hours packing ziploc bags of homemade chex mix and popcorn. I had a "treat" bag full of Dollar Tree shit as a reward for the obvious good behavior I expected. Each Diva had their clothes placed in labeled ziploc bags. I had gathered every DVD we owned. I HAD MY SHIT TOGETHER. I went to bed at 3 am. It was all good though...Girls Trip Spring Break 2014!!

I woke up 30 minutes before the time of departure. F**K!!! I stumbled through the house and managed to get everyone dressed and in the car by 8:30 am. Not bad...we were just an hour or so behind schedule. By the time I arrived to pick up my friend and her son, I was already regretting not having bathed in coffee. Needless to say...by the time we left our town , we were all like f**k the schedule. We ran errands, grabbed coffee, and embarked on our journey. A five hour drive somehow turned into an 8 or 9 hour drive. I didn't take into account the piss breaks and having to feed the kiddos. We found the cutest little pizza place in Alabama and watched the kiddos draw the most wonderful pictures with chalk. We smiled at them while we sipped our adult beverages and all seemed right with the world. I felt like a hipster. Never mind that we had gotten lost numerous times and we were using a GPS, the kids were laughing and everyone knows laughter is good for the soul. We finished our lunch in better spirits. We beckoned the children to get ready to leave and they stood up with chalk all over them from head to f**king toe. Holy hell....f**k chalk. It looked like they had literally rolled around in the shit. Despite our efforts to clean them, we gave up and told them to get their dirty asses in the car. So what if they look like shit when we arrived..."F**k it. It's spring break".

"Fuck it. It's spring break" became the mantra for the trip. You want to drink four cokes in the car..."F**k it. It's spring break." You don't want to eat dinner. You don't want to take a bath. You want to watch TV until midnight. You want to stop wearing socks. You want to eat 8 suckers in one sitting. You sharted and need to change your undies. Sure...go ahead..."F**k it. It's spring break." For three days, we went to bed after midnight and scrambled to breakfast rocking robes and sunglasses 30 minutes before closing. We toured the cute little city and let the children do basically whatever would keep them from calling our names. Did they have the times of their lives?? Hell yes. Were there dark times? Hell yes.

Good Times Take 1: They loved the room and the hotel. Staying in an actual train car was splendid to them. Downtown Chattanooga was beautiful, clean, and safe.

Darkness Take 1: The oldest Diva had a massive nosebleed as soon as we entered the first aquarium. FYI: I could give a shit about aquariums and museums, but this trip was not about my wants and desires. The nosebleed resulted in her vomiting up blood clots in the bathroom. I snarled at a couple of parents that had the nerve to stare at us like we were a circus act. Someone must have finally reported us because a sweet old lady came in to help. I assured her that it looked a lot worse than it was. I assured her that I myself had nosebleeds so bad that finally I had to have a vein cauterized. The bitch was not convinced and decided to sneak off for backup.

Darkness Take 2: I went into survival mode and shoved a tampon up the oldest Diva's nose. I felt quite proud of my ability to improvise until a f**king medic came in with a bag and blue gloves. She looked stunned and I glared back like "bitch don't judge me." She kindly removed the tampon and replaced it with gauze. At that point, I looked at myself and thought as usual....WTF was I doing with my life????? I was wearing a leather jacket, a backpack, and Sperry's. Perfect spring break attire.....FOR A MOTHER!!! I wiped the blood off of my jacket, fixed my hair, put my lipstick on, and told myself...no matter what..."MAMA, STILL GOT IT!"

Darkness Take 3: By the time we caught up with our crew, I was damn near delirious. I had dry heaved several times. I was hungry. I was tired. I kissed my oldest Diva on the forehead, gave her a big hug, and decided to replace her bloody t-shirt ASAP. I should not have entered the gift shop in the shape I was in. My guard was down. My nerves were bad. So, we bought t-shirts, coffee mugs, snow globes, butterfly house shoes, pink ass turtles, and plastic cups shaped as "soda bottles". When the guy told me the total, I politely whispered..."What the f**k?" The amount I spent in that gift shop was obscene. "F**k it. It's spring break." The rest of our trip was a blur. We went to an IMAX movie on Sharks and the middle Diva informed me she was not there to watch an educational movie and took her ass to sleep.

Darkness Take 4: We made it to a cave, took a tour, saw a big ass waterfall, and went to dinner. As we sat down for dinner and ordered our adult beverages, the cute waiter informed me that my trunk was open. Shit!! I stood up and closed it from inside of the restaurant while sipping my Kumquat Mojito. I ignored the complaints of the food being nasty. I lost my appetite after everyone had to go take a shit during dinner!! The waiter kindly approached us with the check and in unison he was asked by the mothers of this lively crew.."Can we get a to go cup?" He was shocked and I was all like "I'm serious!" Our pleas for him to sneak us cups fell upon deaf ears. He did offer me a to go box at which point I asked if he was prepared to look away as I poured my drink in it and slammed a straw through the top. We left empty handed.

Darkness Take 5: We returned to our little humble abode and as promised, the crew got dressed to go frolic in the heated indoor swimming pool. It was 10:30 pm. The pool closed at 11 pm, but I was told that as long as you were quite...you could swim. Wink. Wink. I watched them skip to the pool. Three out of four jumped in and the gates of heaven opened up. At 11:05, the maintenance man entered the area and told us to get out of the pool. I stated I was told by Joy at the front desk that we could swim no matter the time as long as we were quiet. His response: "Ma'am. I gotta treat this pool. Y'all gone have to come back." I had to drag three crying children out of the water, wrap towels around them, and look at their "you failed us" faces. Two security guards entered. The first guard informed me that the treatment in the water could eat them alive. The second guard informed me that the pool closed at 11 pm and it was already 11:10 pm. I responded "No shit sherlock" and guided the crushed souls out of the pool. By the time we arrived to our train car, I had kindly relayed a "don't give me shit about this pool. I'm sorry, but you can swim another time." They went to bed with broken hearts and I searched for a bottle.

Good Times Take 2: We scurried to breakfast on our last day and their was a wonderful buffet of all you can eat. Despite the chaos at times, there was a sense of sadness while eating breakfast. Miss B stated she did not want to leave. They were laughing and smiling and my heart felt full. Did we do everything on the itinerary? Hell no. It didn't matter to them. They were on spring break and they were happy.

Darkness Take 6: The ride home was a little stressful. Miss B had developed a notion of entitlement and whined and fussed the majority of the drive home. It was cold and windy as hell. I drove 85 mph most of the way because the "F**k it. It's spring break" mantra had morphed into "shut the f**k up. you whiny little bitch".  I didn't realize how stressed I was until I asked the drive thru lady at Hardee's to please take my plastic cup from my car and throw it away. She refused before I could really finish my sentence. I blacked out for a second and came to with me throwing the cup on the ground right in front of her and all of the innocent eyes in the car. Holy hell...mama littered.

Darkness Take 7: The Divas and I arrived home and I told them to GET OUT!!! For the first time ever, I left every thing in the car...snacks, cooler, and luggage. I wanted to distance myself away from the shit in that car.

Good Times Take 3: I watched them cuddle their turtles. I listened to Miss B beg to return. She even asked me if I would make a vacation book for this trip. The last one, I made was for our Cozumel trip and she was so proud to take it for her Share Day. I spent five hours creating a photo book with little sayings and poems.

Darkness Take 8: The bitches have barely looked at the book. Miss B stated she didn't want to take it to school anymore and she wants a toy from Wal-Mart.

Darkness Take 9: My father sent me a text two days after our arrival home informing me that my grandmother died


Good Times Take 4: I drove back to my hometown to meet with my family over the death of my grandmother. We put the "fun" in dysfunctional. There were tears, but there was also laughter. Funny, how death can bring a family together. Our family has experienced quite a few deaths over the years and from it we have developed a weird sense of humor to deal with the loss of a loved one. When a family member threatened to jump in the casket, we laughed and threatened to record it and throw dirt on her ass. When one relative described how another family member jumped on top of my grandmother and refused to believe she was dead because she was pulling her eyes open...I ached from laughing. One poor family member didn't even know she was dead. He walked in and sat down beside her thinking she was sleeping until a relative walked in screaming. We all have separate lives and issues in my family that prohibit us from getting together and getting along. But when we do find our ways back to each other, the antics that transpire are not only comical but therapeutic. We all have a common thread that is not just "blood"...it's the ability to accept that we all have yet to get our shit together and it's okay. We see it. We embrace it. We roll with it.


I spent the last two days of spring break in bed and un-showered. I zoned out on pinterest and took my sleeping pills early. My house is a wreck. There are American Girl dolls lined up across our fireplace. Someone is crying because their American Girl doll just got voted off the island. Five baskets of laundry are scattered through out the house. The Divas have eaten an insane amount of food and snacks. We can't figure out where the piss smell is coming from. I have informed them that I am no longer here to provide their every wants and desires in the world. So, I welcome the end of spring break even though it will bring back the routine of school, homework, dance class, music class, work, meetings, and now a funeral.

Do I feel cheated....HELL NO!!  I wouldn't change a thing.."It was the best of times, it was the worst of times". You cannot have the good without the bad. You cannot have the darkness without the light. Accepting my life with the simple notion of  "it is what it is" has allowed me to grow, to love, to laugh, and to be happy. Cheers to all of the parents in car pool line tomorrow. I will have my Bailey's in my coffee and shaking my pill bottle to "Happy" by Pharrell as I bid the Divas farewell!!!

...Sex, Race, Bullying and Breast Buds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

...a bad case of TMS

I have a serious case of TMS (Tired Mommy Syndrome)....

Every night, I go to bed with every intention of waking up like f***king Mary Poppins and shit. I envision rising early, cooking a wonderful breakfast, sweetly kissing the SBF, and crawling into bed to snuggle with the Divas. I hear birds chirping. The sun is shining into the kitchen and the warmth from the sun puts a smile on my face. I pray for this "beautiful kind of morning" every night.

Instead, I wake up to Miss B pulling my eye mask off while stepping into my ribs with her cold ass feet and whining "I'm hungryyyyyyyyy. Wake upppppppp". She then proceeds to re-enter the womb literally. She lays on top of me and and rubs my arm, leg, stomach, navel, and face. Sounds so cute...but after 5 minutes of this, I find myself slapping her hand away. I swear I only breastfed her a year. The skin to skin contact that she requires from me daily would make one think she is still on the "tit". I pull my eye mask back over my eyes and pray for numbness all over my body. Minutes later, the middle Diva comes in and wedges herself between me and the SBF. I finally kick off all the covers while screaming..."okayyyyyyyyyy" and I stomp to the kitchen to prepare pop tarts. Screw pancakes. Screw homemade biscuits and bacon. By the time coffee is ready, I just want to pour the whole pot over my damn head. All the Divas manage to make it into the kitchen in just enough time to fight over one of the eight chairs in our kitchen, the special pink plate, and certain cups. I look out my kitchen windows and find myself wanting to run away. But, I don't and won't because I love the shit out of each one of them. They possess my soul. So, I look back at them and give a half ass smile. I walk to the living room to find the longest show they can watch and I crawl back in bed. I attempt to bury myself under the covers. The SBF and I then began a nasty game of who will ignore them the longest by refusing to get out of bed.

I have TMS which has lead to some shitty mom behaviors. I give them the answers to their homework. I let them eat snacks for dinner. I let them watch the same movie two times in a row. I zone out when they are talking to me. I pretend their flips and cartwheels are fabulous. I buy them shit hoping it will give me a good hour of free time. I don't like playing with them. I have resorted to using my ear buds as earplugs. I wait until bedtime to throw their toys away. I lie to them. I threaten. I bribe. I scream. I curse. I lose my patience. I have said "Well, hit her back!!"

The cravings that come with TMS are off the meter!! I crave alone time. I crave dinner with the girls. I crave getaway trips. I crave silence. I crave solitude. I crave senseless television. I crave dirty jokes
during happy hour. I crave sleeping in without any guilt. I crave dirty music. I crave champagne and dancing.  I crave being selfish. I crave having the SBF all to myself.

The last girls trip that I took, I was shocked to come home somewhat frustrated. I had a fabulous time. Weird how I found myself frustrated with the smidgen of freedom I had possessed for a mere 24 hours. Instead of being refreshed, I wanted more of it. It was like a drug. Then the guilt sets in and I question my decision to be a mother. Shit....wth?????? I immediately ask God for forgiveness for these thoughts. 





Just the other night, the middle Diva came to me asking for "family time," Immediately, I said "f**k" in my head. The SBF woke up from his evening nap and went to the store and purchased a game. He returned with a game called "Beat the Parents" and I literally mouthed..."WTF, dude!!". I was amazed by several things that night. I saw my three Divas get in a huddle together. Holy hell!!! Of course, Miss B's interest did not last long and resulted in her watching a show and laying in my lap. Still, the other Divas were determined to beat us. And to my surprise, the game got a little competitive. Yes, I accidentally screamed out "bullshit" when I answered "Count Dracula" as the vampire on Sesame Street only to be told I was wrong and that it was "Count Von Count" or some shit. Yes, the SBF got upset when the the oldest Diva would not accept his answer Earl of Grey for Earl of Greystoke. He caught the "mother...." that almost came out and instead whispered in my ear that he would not help her with her homework. There was laughter followed by Miss B pitching a bitch fit and Divas whining about going to bed, but overall it was a good night. We beat their asses. A memory was made and I gave myself a "keep your head up" pat on the back. The following night involved me zoning out and watching a 3 hour movie on my laptop and letting the Divas fall asleep on the couch. I'm not perfect.


It never fails that when the dust settles, the fighting ceases, and the crying ends. Out of nowhere, Miss B screams from the playroom or whatever room she is completely destroying...."I love you, everybody." And in unison, we all say "I love you, everybody" from wherever we are.  

And for five seconds, it is well with my soul. I realize I am doing the best I can. I realize I am loved immensely. I realize that no matter what syndrome I am suffering from there is an unconditional love present that I am blessed to receive. No matter how much I think I am screwing shit up...there is love in this house. Amidst the banshee screams, dysfunctional conversations, inappropriate words, cat fights, and emotional breakdowns....

We love hard in this house.

...Sh*t Just Got Real

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers

...2013 Christmas Gifts of the Year: Coupons

As I run out and attempt to purchase gifts for friends and family, I find myself wondering "what do I want for Christmas?" Of course the normal things pop up, I want world peace, a cure for cancer, and happiness for everyone. Those are my top things by far, but if I could have some "extra gifts"....I would want a shit load of the following coupons.

1. This coupon entitles you to one dinner at which you will be allowed to actually sit at the kitchen table as opposed to standing and eat your entire meal without interruption.

2. This coupon entitles you to one free pass from having to wipe Miss B's ass while eating out at a restaurant because she is bored, ready to go home, and has picked up an attention seeking behavior called "mommy I didn't wipe my booty good".

3. This coupon entitles you to one carpool drop off line at which time the giver of this coupon will pick your fighting children up in the morning and take them to their designated locations.

4. This coupon entitles you to walk away from the shit load of homework that your children brought home. The giver will tutor and thoroughly check the homework and also provide comfort for the tears and screams that usually come with the math problems.

5. This coupon releases you from any participation in the science fair this year. Giver will not only think of the winning project, but will also build the project away from the home.

6. This coupon allows you to go get shit faced with your friends and vomit in public with out being judged.

7. This coupon can be redeemed for a courtesy phone call at which time the giver will call you and tell you "It's not you. It's them".

8. This coupon allows one free bitch night fest (alcohol provided) with giver about the struggles of parenting. Shit talking about husbands will be permitted.

9. This coupon is for one laundry pass at which time the giver will sort through the shit stained underwear, smelly socks, and filthy clothes. All clothes will be washed, folded, and put in their assigned areas.

10. This coupon entitles you to one free pass to ask the mother judging you for allowing your children to slide across the floor in the grocery store..."What the fuck are you looking at bitch? Look away. Look away."

11. This coupon can be redeemed for help getting the children dressed for church on Sundays, so that you may actually attend church with sound body and mind and not feel like you may ignite into flames because you have screamed "get in the damn car because we are going to be late."

12. This coupon entitles you to a 2 hour nap in you car in the parking lot of your choice while the giver stands watch to make sure you are not robbed or attacked.

13. This coupon can be redeemed for a shopping spree that does not involve looking for seamless toed socks because Miss B has gone without socks so far this winter. Better yet...the giver will go out and find the damn socks.

14.  This coupon will allow you to switch bodies with the giver when the SBF has decided to have a "come to Jesus" meeting about the budget.

15. This coupon is for one free pass of Taxi services at which time the giver will pick up the three Divas from three different locations, drop them off at three different locations, and pick them back up and bring them home. All of these things will be done within an allotted 1 hour time slot.

16. This coupon entitles you to a lunch free pass from the Divas' schools. The giver will show up after being given a ridiculous lunch request, rush to get there on time, and then sit as the Divas completely ignore you.

17. This coupon allows you to ignore the "Mom, come here!! I need you" at which time the giver will jump immediately and save the day!

18. This coupon entitles you to one prank phone call to the Nissan dealership.

19. This coupon is good for a "get out of taking down all the Christmas shit" card at which time you are allowed to leave the house after Christmas and return to home with your house back to it's normal condition.

20. This coupon is for a Sunday night meltdown at which time you are allowed to kindly throw all of your children's newsletters, field trip forms, and all other paperwork from school in the garbage. You are even allowed to say "Fuck this shit" for dramatic purposes.

21. This coupon is for a free night from trying to figure out what to feed your family who are not ever really pleased with anything but pancakes for dinner.

22. This coupon grants you one night freedom from attempting to pick out the Divas clothes from school only to have Miss B wear the same shit everyday. Short long sleeve shirts, leggings, boots with no socks, and a side ponytail are her favorite.

23. This coupon entitles you to "decline" the phone call from your mother in law. Giggle

24. This coupon allows you to tell your aunts that continue to question your choice to change churches ..."I see dead people, bitches!!".

25. This coupon entitles you a free pass from having to flip someone off for almost running you off the road while you are driving the three Divas and begging Miss B to roll up the window and to stop fighting her sisters. The giver will immediately step in and "flip the bird" as high as their alarm will allow it to go to the asshat that's not paying attention while driving.

26. This coupon is for a tag team pass at which time the giver will come in and play with Miss B. The giver will sit patiently and allow her to pretend to feed you with dirty ass play spoons she found under the playroom couch. The giver will also allow her to check his or her forehead for a fever with her hand that has probably been in her ass less than 5 minutes ago.

27. This coupon allows you to "tap out". This coupon can be redeemed in any situation at which time you realize that you are going to be once again sucked into doing something that will only add more stress and chaos to your life. The situation starts off with some lazy ass coming up to you saying "Do you mind....".

28. This coupon entitles you to one serenity shower at which time you will be able to lather up completely, wash and shave all needed areas, and not have to listen for screaming and fighting or have a conversation through the glass mirror.

29. This coupon allows you to walk away from the piece of shit that is floating in the toilet with no tissue paper. The giver will not only flush the toilet, but will find the culprit and wipe her ass and explain to her the importance of good hygiene.

30. This coupon gives you a free pass to think all of the bad shit, say all of the wrong things, forget some of the important things, and blow up over the little things because everyone knows you love them immensely. You love them so much so that you allow them to drive you bat shit crazy. They have your soul, your mind, your body, and your heart. They have taken all of that and yet you feel complete rather than empty the majority of the time. This coupon is for the day when "the shit hits the fan".

Feel free to change the names and pass these coupons on to friends and family. They are priceless!!

...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!"

....Thanks living

The holiday season is approaching. Actually according to the commercials and stores, Christmas is here. I have had mixed emotions over the last couple of days of what seems to be the slow evaporation of Thanksgiving. The child in me still yearns for the Thanksgivings full of food, laughter, and fun. That child yearns for "home". In reality, that "home" is gone and that child has created her own "home" which is somewhat bittersweet. Sadly, my mother and her mother died within 1 year of each other, they were the most important and influential women in my life. They were total opposites, but they had one similarity....an insane love for the holidays. Since there is no "home" to go visit to recreate those beautiful distant memories, and there is not enough alcohol or drugs available to assemble together what is left of my dysfunctional family, I try to create my own.

Last year, we spent Thanksgiving at an Ihop. I was quite disturbed at first. The Divas were in heaven. They practically had the whole restaurant to themselves. As I sipped my coffee, I was comforted by their giggles. There was no dysfunction. Holy hell....was I happy and at peace? I did feel as if I were cheating the Divas. They needed the turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce, and a game of  Life to be complete in the world. They needed the homemade rolls, the pear salad, and the "good silverware" aka as the forks that stabbed the back of my throat. They needed the hams, and the pies, and the German chocolate cake. My mother's mom, my grandmother or as I called her my "Maene" managed to create a spread for years that could feed the entire community. I would watch as she scolded her three daughters, one being my mother, for giggling during prayer or sneaking a pinch of the caramel cake. It was seriously like fucking Camelot on that side of the family...surreal. From that side of the family, I got my ability to recreate some shit that would make Martha Stewart tear up. I have baked, cooked, hosted, and decorated some pretty fabulous fucking feasts trying to get a hint of that fix that I long for only to realize that after half a bottle of wine, I am pissed and frustrated. One year, I looked around at the attendees of my pieced together family and friends and realized the main characters were missing. No matter how hard I tried the ingredients I needed the most were unattainable.

Thank goodness, in my childhood, I was also exposed to my father's side of the family who offered something totally opposite from Camelot. My father's side offered a variety every year similar to Christmas Vacation. Barbeque..chicken...turkey and maybe even pizza were items on the menu. The only two things that were constant: the out of the box "sock it to me cake" and a 5 hour game of Spades. My father's mother aka Grandma Alice is still alive and a firecracker to say the least. She had a stroke in the 80s that left her "different". Some years (mostly around the holidays) she was blind in one eye and some years she wasn't. Some years she was apparently "paralyzed" until it was time to jump out of her chair to claim that my grandfather wouldn't touch her anymore and she was going to die the following Friday. My grandfather would kindly reply while playing spades..."Awe, Alice, nobody wants to hear that shit." And I would giggle and somehow my heart was warmed by the behavior.  From that side of the family, I got my ability to recreate a comedic act that Richard Pryor would laugh at.

"Thanksgiving is the day when you turn to another family member and say, 'How long has Mom been drinking like this?' My Mom, after six Bloody Marys looks at the turkey and goes, Here, kitty, kitty." - David Letterman

Both families gave me two polar opposite pictures of Thanksgiving. A fairy tale and a comedy. I consider myself blessed to have had those two. When I am not trying, searching, or longing, I see a glimpse of both sides recreated in my everyday life. The scent of pecan pie or a good ole "nobody wants to hear that shit" reward me with the memory of "home". The "home" that takes up residence in my heart and my soul and where it must stay because as stated earlier the ingredients have expired.

The SBF finally decided a couple of years ago that the dysfunction was just not worth putting ourselves through....especially being that no one on my side of the family really drinks. BLASPHEMY!! I swear I think we would all get a long a little better if every one had a bottle of wine or too. For the second year in a row, I will not be up till 4 am cooking a fucking ham with pineapples and cherries strategically placed on it. I will not be at our local grocery store asking a random stranger how the hell do you cook a frozen turkey the night before Thanksgiving. I will not be up making my favorite sweet potato casserole. Awe......the infamous sweet potato casserole: one year, the oldest Diva came to me on Thanksgiving Eve and told me there was a "toon toon" on the floor. Well, "toon toon" is what we call our privates in the Davis household. Bewildered, I asked her numerous times..."What? Where?". Each time she innocently responded "there is a toon toon on the floor". Flustered, I grab her sweet little hand and asked her to take me to the toon toon. As I walked, I thought about all of the SOBs I would call the SBF that day for leaving out his "toys". I was shocked when she pointed down to a pecan half on the floor and looked up me with the a huge smile. "See mommy, there is a toon toon right there." Chopped pecans are obviously an important ingredient in my sweet potato casserole. Pretty fucking hard to cut up a bunch of pecans without thinking about toon toons. Toon toons everywhere. Pecan halves are no longer allowed in our house. Oreos are not either, but that story is for another day.

So, this year, we are eating at our local church that is serving the community. Once again, I was all like "Shit. What am I doing with my life?" I felt the internal struggle resurface on whether I am cheating my Divas again. I then remember I am chasing something that just cannot be and if I continue chasing that "home", I won't reap from the beautiful "home" I have now. My Divas will have various memories of many different types of Thanksgivings and I pray the varieties give them a
spark about them. A spark that will enlighten them, comfort them, and nurture them. I have many years to screw their lives up and I just can't let myself believe that eating pancakes on Thanksgiving will be the topic on the couch at their psychiatrist's office. If so....those bitches are pretty lucky. Confession: some days, I do dream of the Divas coming home on Thanksgiving with their families and the beautiful feast of food, flowers, cakes, cookies, wine, music, and games I will present to them and then the circle of life will be complete. Giggle.......

I wonder if Thanksgiving has lost it's appeal to some of us because we are yearning to recreate the impossible or that families are less "cookie cutter". Is it too hard for us to say, those memories were great, but they are not my current reality? Or my family is fucking nuts and I don't feel like being bothered? Basically..."It is what it is". Maybe we have all bought into what it should be and have rejected what it truly is. For one day, you are suppose to put aside all of the skeletons in the closets, feast, and avoid drinking too much and cussing out your uncle. There's just food and fellowship...fellowship that can bring up memories both good and bad. Fellowship that can lead to family fights, inappropriate comments, cursing, drinking, medicating, sneaking out to smoke a cig, and vowing never to return....

Unlike Christmas, there are no gifts presented at Thanksgiving to mask the sight of  the empty chair of the loved one that is no longer present or the gifts from the cousins that you only see once a year but manage to get you something that proves you are indeed related and not complete fucking strangers. It's just a time for giving thanks. A thanks that may come out as a "thanks for being a jackass all those years" after that second glass of bourbon. Or "thanks for biting my nipple out of anger over a doll that time when I was seven" which really made breastfeeding go sooooo well. Found this to further support my theory........

Whatever your "story", "situation", or your "home" may be, Thanksgiving should still be celebrated and celebrated for what it simply is. A day to fellowship with whomever...wherever....however and give thanks. A thanks to just living. Plain and simple

So however your Thanksgiving turns out...whether it is good or bad...you are living and that is something to give thanks for and celebrate. Living takes balls. Giggle

"Thanksgiving is an emotional holiday. People travel thousands of miles to be with people they only see once a year. And then discover once a year is way too often." – Johnny Carson

Cheers and Happy Living!!
  

...he called you a "what"????

Public service announcement: To the little boy that called one of the Divas a "hoe". Your mama is a hoe and I wish I knew her name to relay the message.  Real talk

The above statement may be harsh and tacky to some. I know fighting fire with fire is not something I want to pass down to the three Divas. I know it it best to turn the other cheek and walk away. The problem is how do you teach those values, but instill in them that they have permission to stand up for themselves by any means necessary.

I was bullied from the kindergarten to the 9th grade. I vividly remember pissing on myself while standing in front of the teacher on the playground in kindergarten because I was horrified of two bullies in the bathroom. These girls quite often pushed me, called me names, and pulled my hair. The shame I felt that day destroyed me. Unfortunately, that day was just the beginning. We moved around quite a bit in my early childhood, so I was often the "new" girl. New girls get both positive and negative attention. It didn't help that I was very small for my age and rocked a nice Eddie Monster unibrow.

At every new school, the bullying always started with just name calling and moved on to physical threats and interactions. I was pushed in a fucking locker in the 7th grade and my clothes were thrown on top of the locker. I was also bitch slapped that same semester for getting a girl out in dodge ball. In the ninth grade, a young girl got so upset because I was riding in the backseat with her boyfriend during Driver's Ed. I could see the look of rage in her eyes and I quickly exited the car and tried my best to run to the front steps of the school. I made it to the last step and felt like I had just slid into home base. Until a big ass rock, hit me on the side of my head. Yep, the bitch took a rock and hit me in my head with it.

My father spent countless hours at school because I was hysterical most of the time. Who the hell wants to come to school and get their ass beat??? I remember the principal pleading with me to not call my father one day after a girl knocked my books out of my hand and pushed me into the wall. He called me "Jones" which is my maiden name. "Jones, now don't go and call your daddy and stir up a ruckus. Just go back to class and avoid the girl" he pleaded. I was dumbfounded. The son of a bitch basically said I was the problem. Luckily, they had payphones at school and I called my father. My father came to school that day to whoop somebody's ass and was not going to stop until his daughter stopped getting her ass whooped. My dear grandmother even resorted to giving me a sharpened pencil to stab a little girl at church. This little girl beat my ass literally 6 days a week. My only off day from her was Saturday. Luckily, my mother questioned me about the sharpened pencil I was holding tightly in my hand. She took the pencil away from me and told me once again the words that have stuck with me forever. "It's cause you're pretty and they're ugly". She told me those words over and over again for the 15 years I had her in my life.

The majority of the time, she would add personal information about the family in her pep talk and gave me permission to repeat the information verbatim. And I did. I would walk up to the bully the next day and say word for word what secrets my mom had revealed. "You're just mad because your daddy left your mama for another man." BAM....of course, I would get slapped again and I would run to the principal's office and the whole damn cycle would start over again. I endured hell until I was old enough to get a boyfriend. If I didn't have a boyfriend, I had a shit load of male friends that were willing to beat the hell out of anyone that dared to approach me. I actually became well liked and walked away from high school with many titles: Miss THS, Homecoming Queen, Hall of Fame, Class Favorite, etc.  

The bullying I experienced as a child and throughout my teen years were physical and verbal. The verbal shit that I was told hurt 10 times more than the physical stuff. Unfortunately, I didn't learn how to fight with my fists. I fought with words and I played dirty and hard. To this day, I frighten myself with the words that can come out of my mouth when I feel threatened.

So, I was not shocked when my first response to the little shit calling my Divas a "hoe" was to go straight into a ratchet verbal assault. My two oldest Divas had no idea what a "hoe" was. They just knew it was a bad word. I tried to explain that "hoe" was short for whore and that a whore was.....hell....a lady with a lot of husbands and boyfriends. I know...but it was the best I could come up with. Miss B was listening in and of course started repeating "hoe" over and over again. I'm trying to get her to stop and she's screaming "Santa says it." Shit....I could shake the hell out of the little bastard right now. His mama is such a "hoe"!!!!!!

Fuck, now I feel like a hypocrite. How I will maneuver through the next couple of years will be shocking to say the least. How do you find a middle??? I want my Divas to stand up for themselves. I want them to scare the shit out of someone with their words if they are ever bullied. Confession: they have been given permission to knock the hell out of anyone that touches them. They are small for their size. So, they have been told to fight dirty. 

Seriously, I didn't even know what the word "hoe" meant at their age. So, I worry about their generation. I worry about cyber bullying. I worry about mean girls. I work about shitty boys. 

My job is to protect them, to nurture them, and to build their self esteem. I'll be damned if some little shit messes with that. Mama plays dirty. 

We have an obligation to teach all children that any form of bullying will not be tolerated. I will gladly take on that responsibility one "your mama is a hoe" little prick at a time. 

...Holy Halloween

Halloween is approaching and it may very well be what I need to get me out of this damn funk. Confession: I love it and I am not sure why.  The middle Diva asked if we were celebrating the birth of Satan and I just looked at her. What in the hell happened to the fucking fun in Halloween? Why must the devil be involved? Halloween is about candy and scaring the shit out of little kids. Sadly though, I wish I could say we had some rock out Halloween "adult party" to go to and have found the best costumes. One year, when there was just one Diva, the SBF and I attended the local bar in our college town and I was like a kid in a candy store. There was a guy walking around like Tom Cruise in a pink button up and tighty whities, a guy walking around with a shower curtain built around his body and the skanks....oh the skanks where magnificent. It was a freak show and I loved it.

I hinted to SBF that I may dress up like a Xanax pill this year and happily go door to door with my children. He has encouraged me not to. "What would people think?" he says. Maybe they will think that I am fucking happy and they should get some too. So instead, I will probably show up in my normal Halloween costume: The tired, angry mother of three walking down numerous sidewalks in the dark cursing under my breath and pissed that I forgot my flask of Bailey's for my coffee. I will see the local bars in a distance and spit at the college kids enjoying their life and shit. The Divas will be dressed as Cleopatra, a mummy, and a pink ass Bratz tiger. Guess who is the tiger....yep, Miss B. The costume is not one of my favorites and I find myself calling her "Richard Parker" from Life of Pi. Picking out costumes for the three Divas caused me to question the costume industry and if I had passed down some "slut genes" to these three girls. It took hours to convince them that the Bride zombie looked like a Meth Head, the Pop Star Diva looked like a stripper, and the Southern Belle looked like she was the "Head Madame" at a Brothel. What the hell is going on? I swear there was a picture of a five year old girl posing seductively as a cop with handcuffs in her hands. I know my past. I know my genes. I know there is a pretty good chance that I could end up with a tramp as a daughter. I am not putting that idea in the universe as a for sure, but I know there is a possibility. I will do my best to fight it and love the tramp unconditionally. 

The girls love to ask me what I dressed up as for Halloween when I was a child. In the fifth grade, I swear I went as a hooker. I wish my mother was alive to confirm this, but I promise I was a hooker with a mole drawn on my face. Giggle. She was a young, wonderful, free spirited mother...don't judge her and I turned out fine.
 

My love for Halloween has caused me to fall off the wagon. I am in deep. Let the crafting madness and Halloween parties begin. Right now my kitchen table is a mass of newspapers and orange paint. Pinterest is my poison and I may OD this week. Miss B has a party this morning and once again I was up past midnight cutting ribbon and painting bags. I looked at the beautiful pile of shit everywhere and I was at peace. The SBF came through and stated that it must bring some peace to me because there is no way in hell he would do that shit. He seemed to have forgotten he had just finished spending over an hour cutting out jack-o-lantern faces for me. 

In my defense, I have not gone fully ape shit crazy into the Pinterest dark hole. At 12:30 am, I said the hell with trying to tie cute bows through the holes of tags that I created for goodie bags. I grabbed a stapler and stapled tag, ribbon, and the whole damn bag. Ha!! 

...I'll be watching you

The NISSANITY I have suffered from has come to an end. Purchasing another car last week (NOT A NISSAN) was just the right medication to cure this evil disease. Mama is happy. My new lover is an Aucra MDX and I love it. As I pulled up to the Nissan dealership to remove my items, yes I was blasting rap music..."U.E.O.N.O" was my song of choice for my entrance. To some this may seem a little over the top, but I don't give a shit. I stepped out of my new vehicle and approached my former lover and my sandal broke. WTF really...my sandal broke. It was a sign, but not some sort of bad karma sign. It was the laws of the universe confirming that I was indeed dealing with "shit" and would continue to experience "shit" until I relinquished myself of all associations with this company.  As the service lady cautiously approached me, I made sure to tell her that every time I step on this lot...my shit breaks..."look at my sandal". 

She was not amused with the comment and again I didn't give a shit. I was there to get my personal items and cause no harm. She offered a box to put my things in and I felt like I had just gone to an ex lover's house to get my shit. "Hell no, I don't want a box. I will carry my items like a lady." I refused to be the wounded ex girlfriend picking up her items with tears running down her face. Been there...done that. I think I literally skipped back and forth as I went back and forth.

They bought the car back in full and I don't feel a need to be appreciative of their actions. They only did what was required by law and that's all they did. Never once did they attempt to go above and beyond.  When I approached the Twerk Tank, I experienced flashbacks of what I thought would be a happy life for us. I would be lying if I did not say that a sadness did come over me. I very well know this is just a piece of metal...an item in my life used to get me from point A to point B. This sack of shit did a detour though and took me to hell and back. So, I had two choices: get my items and "keep it classy" or be me. Why hide the frustrations and pain I had felt over the last month? I did not do shit angels. I did not sing Ceelo's song "Fuck You". I decided to just be me...giggle.

I kept my car blasting my theme music the entire time as I switched back and forth with my items. Yes, I slammed car doors. Yes, I  had a full on commentary out loud. Nobody wanted to make eye contact. Nobody wanted to acknowledge me really. They wanted me gone. I admit I wanted to leave something for them to remember me by. Tons of scenarios of the worst kinds of behavior that I could exhibit were going through my mind. I looked for "Sam I am" because I wanted to tell him that I didn't give a damn. His rules were for fools. Yet, I could not find his gray headed ass. So, I said farewell to the service men. Yes, I sang in my best opera voice as I stood like Rocky Balboa did when he won a fight..."This bitch has left the building. May God have mercy on your souls". The service lady interrupted me and told me I could not be in the service area for insurance purposes. I kindly replied.."Now, you want to follow rules. Fuck you." and I walked off with my broken sandal flopping still holding my arms in the air because I was "winning".

The SBF was frightened to hear of my behavior and reminded me that "God does not make cars. Man does." I know that and agree. God made man. And if anyone in that dealership or corporation had showed me any compassion and understanding, I am pretty sure my NISSANITY would have never
developed. I never asked for anything unreasonable, just a car that I could transport my Divas in. Our history will soon be a very distant memory. My new lover is taking care of me now and he's "the shit" if I may say so. I left the dealership with my new boy fraaand blowing my horn while waving my hand out the window and "woohooing" to the top of my lungs...

Best break up ever

But I end this chapter in my life with a song playing on repeat....
                           
                            "Every move you make
  Every vow you break
  Every smile you fake
  Every claim you stake
  I'll be watching you....."

  And my friends will be watching you.....

 Giggle
 

...Dancing Machines

We are a dancing family. Friday nights no longer involve barhopping and clubbing. The three Divas make it very hard to do such, so we have learned that to bring the clubbing to us. I hope in the future when the Divas are "airing our dirty laundry" to their shrinks that they will remember that in the midst of all of the drama, the dirty house, the cries, and the screams....

"WE DANCED OUR ASSES OFF"


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ip2N3m_bvi0&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FacfJV4BEkI&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=93rEpnWbnws&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=HJP4EpUwtog&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=G_2h-VDE1qA&list=PLTcUPUXNBbDUCxnZykkns-0X_wOwu6Em_

..."SHE GONE"

Oh, I have gone and done it......I have lost my shit. The recent events and activities in my life that I like to think of colorful strips of paper have driven me to the breaking point. My strips are all scattered about like I went on a rampage with a leaf blower. Over the last few days, I have tried to narrow down the exact occurrence that has caused me to go into a dark place of giving 0 fucks. The best I can come up with is that my superwoman cape has wrapped around my damn throat and is currently choking the shit out of me as I type these words. I have always known that I am somewhat of a volunteer whore, but over the last month I have walked too many street corners. I also like to consider myself a warrior and this warrior has fought way too many battles. Seriously, I am not sure when I started swapping out happy hours for volunteer meetings, making school crafts instead of watching trashy TV, and scheduling play dates instead of girls night out. So, I am issuing a public service announcement: "SHE GONE"

I swear there are subliminal messages out there to mothers that say we must do it all, keep our shit together, and die trying. If you have not fallen victim to this phenomena, please do not judge the mother who has...send peace vibes her way. I think it will happen to all of us at one point in our lives. Either we are the bat shit crazy over the top mom or the mom feeling guilty for not being the bat shit crazy over the top mom. Both result in a mother hiding in a closet with her wine and her pills and whispering "Dear sweet baby Jesus please just let me make it to bed time." They both result in a mother feeling like shit at the end of the day and that my friends is just fucking nonsense. I read the funniest post the other week that made reference to "Namaste" and ever since I have wished I could purchase some "Namaste" water to baptize myself in...in hopes that I would resurface as a new, refreshed mother, wife, and friend. Hallelujah!!! Mama has risen...and yes I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell for the last statement.   

The very thought of volunteering, doing homework, cleaning, decorating, working, parenting, and just fucking caring sends me into slight convulsions. I have never pretended to have my shit together, but I think me losing my shit is starting to surface. I am all about letting my crazy show, but it's on my terms. I'd like to think I have some control over it, but my freak flag is flying higher by the second. I swear I caught the middle Diva looking at me today with a "what the fuck is up with my mom" look as I kissed her goodbye. I can't blame her. I would be worried too if my mom was walking around with pieces of silicone bandages on her arms and nose. When I get busy, I get clumsy hence the two iron burns on my arm that resemble suspect cutting behavior. When I get stressed, I tweeze and squeeze hence the Gorbachev scar I am currently sporting on my nose. The SBF thought it was quite entertaining to come to me and ask if I needed to "talk so someone". Me: "What the hell are you talking about?". The SBF: "I think this is how it started with Michael Jackson. Pretty sure he got stressed with all the demands in his life and he started focusing on his body and developed...". Me: "Oh, go to hell." I am pretty sure rumors will start to surface that I am in some sort of abusive relationship or either I did in fact go to the Nissan dealership and get into a fist fight with the owner. I have found myself having to bite my lip when people ask "how's it going?" because there is a beast inside of me that wants to verbally vomit some of the most foulest shit ever. These people include not only friends, neighbors, acquaintances, but also random strangers or anyone that manages to make eye contact with me. Wanting to mouth to random bystanders "this shit sucks" has forced me to make some changes in my life.

The truth is simple...I am tired as FUCK!!! So tired that I don't have the energy to fight the SBF over the fact that he put three 100 watt light bulbs in the very small hallway leading to the girls' rooms. When the middle Diva came to me earlier with a look of horror saying that the light was too bright, I just blew her off and put her complaint in the "middle child nothing makes me happy" category....that was until I cut the damn light on and proceeded to scream "Jesus Christ". The SBF is quite frugal and known for cutting the air off during the day causing the house to be a nice 81 degrees when the Divas and I come home. The shit he has put in this light socket is sure to run the electricity bill up $200 and I am too tired to express any concern. I just pray no one suffers sunburn while walking down the hall that I now call the "highlighter to hell". I am also too tired to find the energy to participate in the
schools' local fundraiser. Yep, the former Parent of the Year and PTA treasurer and VP has not sold one damn raffle ticket and she has three children in three different schools. I think the cause is great, but I cannot stomach asking one more person in this community for money. The Divas remind me daily that I have not sold any tickets...never mind the SBF...he has no obligation in this process. In their minds "Daddies work and mommies do EVERYTHING else" which will be great shrink material for them. I just finished helping raise a nice amount of money for an organization that helps the children in the community. But, in reality they could give two shits. They want the free Disney pins and lanyards for selling their tickets. I am contemplating confessing to them tonight that mommy is not going to sell one damn ticket and take them to Dollar Tree to help the confession sting a little less to them. I have also let the SBF and the oldest Diva do a school project together. Holy hell...the world is coming to an end. I closed my eyes and said a little prayer when I saw the SBF trying to help decorate a poster on Alaska last night. Then, I was reminded of  this wonderful woman I met on the beach a couple of weeks ago whose carefree personality was intoxicating. She told me the way she made it through homework and projects was by simply stating "I already earned my degree. You earn your own." I was totally dumbfounded and caught myself wanting to ask her..."is that allowed?"

So, I have realized one thing...the world will still go on without me. Other mothers are selling raffle tickets. The Divas have managed to pick out their own clothes. I even caught them putting little notes in each others lunch boxes which brought tears to my eyes. Just the other day I witnessed the oldest Diva taking the middle one to the side and telling her to slap a bully in the face...atta girl. Giggle. I tried to do it all and it sucked ass. Today, I declare that I will allow myself to give 0 fucks and let the pieces fall where they may. Funny, I never realized how much in control I thought I needed to be. So for right now... the calendar may just remain blank, homework and backpacks may go unchecked, meetings may be skipped, and emails may be ignored.

I do offer my condolences to those that will be affected by my behavior. If someone should ask, what the hell happened to me...just reply "SHE GONE".  It's just humanly impossible to be everything for everyone. So, I'm going to let my freak flag fly high in the world of not giving a shit for a little while. Join me if you would like....I'm getting on the "Peace Train".

...Dear Karma

Dear Karma,

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

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

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

Sincerely and formerly,

Your bitch