...road trip take 2

We're 4 hrs into our trip...I think. I currently have lost my ability to add. After Miss B and I started feeling nauseous and passing sulfur bombs, I realized that maybe we all are car sick. My middle one and I usually get car sick. So, I made sure to treat her with meds before we got on the road. She's feeling great right now. Guess who else feels great...the SBF aka SOB. So I have come to the conclusion that we are all car sick because he is swerving trying to read an atlas, look at the GPS, and drive. 

At this point, I suggest he pull over to the gas station. I take all three of the girls to the bathroom while he goes off by himself. Funny...one thing I hate about road trips is the fact that he still gets to piss by himself. Bastard. 

Well, I make friends with the lady behind us while waiting in the bathroom line. Old lady: "them yours." Me: yes ma'am. Old lady: "all of them". Me: yes (I wish she would stop talking to me) ma'am. 

I get everybody to the bathroom and hands washed in record time. Yes!! Feeling good and walking to the car. Shit!!!!!!!!

I left my wallet in the bathroom. I race back and explain to a younger woman why I need to cut her in line...my wallet is in there with the old lady. And I begin to pray "Jesus, please let her be a really sweet old lady in real life. Please don't let her steal my credit cards and cash. Please let her be honest and return my wallet to me if she comes out with it in her hand. Dear lord, please let me show some restraint and not jump her ass for my wallet. Amen". 

I decide to get so close to the damn door that she is startled and jumps back when she opens the door. "I'm sorry. I left my wallet." I explain while I look and block her at the same time. Luckily it was there and I felt bad for thinking such things about a sweet lady. As we walk out together, she says "better be glad it was me in that bathroom". Me: yes (better be glad I didn't have to beat ur ass over my wallet. Holy hell. Wtf is wrong with me?Did I miss my meds this morning?) ma'am. Bye

I get back into the car and divide out Nutella and pretzels and demand they watch something on Netflix. I settle into shotgun aka "the bitch that does everything for everybody in the damn car" seat and pop in my earbuds....

Silence...wtf??? Yep. The water damage to my phone killed my external speaker and now I can't listen to my music with my earbuds. After 15 mins of shaking the phone and blowing into it like an old Nintendo cartridge, I give up. I look out the window and let a tear run down my face. I refuse to take the earbuds out. They were my only barrier from the chaos. As I contemplate jumping out the car, I start to feel sick again. 

I look over there and that SOB is at it again. Wtf is he doing? is he just reading the atlas for fun? Me: "I think I'm getting car sick. Please put the atlas away". SOB: "I need it." Me: "use the GPS". SOB: "I need both". Me: I'm going to vomit and then I'm going to snatch that atlas and throw it out the window. SOB: "well, then we won't get there". Me: **silence** and I look out the window. 

My oldest: When will we get there?

SOB: In three and a half hours

10 mins later 

My oldest: how much longer?

(You're as dumb as your daddy. I'm going to ask this asshole to pull over so that I can buy a 40)

 

I'm going to try to sleep with my earbuds in and no music playing...just to tune out Josh and his music selection, and his singing, and swerving, and the kids whining and "did he just turn the GPS all the way up???"

Son of a f____r!!!!!

To be continued

...road trip

We are on the road to the beach!! Yay and Jesus be my shield because being in the car with the 3 Divas and the sexy bald fella can take me to my dark place. 

We have been on the road 2 hours and the oldest child has farted (maybe even sharted) herself into a coma. But that's one less child that will whine and complain. The other two keep coming in and out of their drug induced naps asking for for food and if we are there yet. The SBF just informed me I was talking to him to loud while listening to music on my iPhone. So, I whispered I would just stop f___g talking to him. I am ignoring the fact that he's driving like a damn lunatic. I'm going to go to sleep. 

2.5/7 hours: He finally has agreed to stop because of course naps are short lived and they are starving. He pulls into McDonald's and decides it would be much easier for him to go in and get the food for everybody. (Wtf...what's wrong with drive thru). He jumps out the car and takes the keys with him. (Hello...it's 80 damn degrees and your family has decided to stay in the vehicle!!) I find my keys and crank up the car. The oldest has just blessed us again by expelling fumes from her body. (Wth did she eat? Is she rotting inside. Holy hell is she sick? The SBF returns with our food and coffee for himself. No beverages for everyone else in his family. He goes back and returns with 4 apple juice boxes. (I don't want any damn apple juice and why is there a straw missing from one of them? Isn't that a coincidence...my juice box is missing a straw). I know I may sound like a spoiled bitch, but an apple juice box??? I make sure to tell him thank you and distribute the food to the savages.

As we pull out of the gas station, guess what comes on the radio......

 

The edited version of course. II can't help but do a "cheers" up to the sunny sky to my mom with my apple juice box. She has my back. 

Instead of using our GPS, he has an atlas out. Really??? Do they even make those anymore? But wait...he can't use the GPS because the girls are playing with it. They have barely touched their kindle Fire HDs that are connected to a portable wifi device so they can watch Netflix. 

We are now stuck in traffic and he has chosen to play car checkers and literally jump from lane to lane attempting to get ahead and not lose any time. 

I glance out my window to eacape reality and I notice an AL new station vehicle beside us. Hope we don't end up on their local news. 

Breaking news: mommy loses her shit....

To be continued

....Beach Body Mama Still Got It

I know we are all guilty of this. Please click on the picture!!

Getting ready for a vacation to Destin tomorrow, I began the process of pulling out my bikinis, tankinis, one pieces and cover ups. I could not help but to think about an article a close friend shared about the messages mothers send to their daughters. Basically, the article discussed a daughter who was raised by a mother with body image issues. In the daughter's eyes, she thought her mother to be the definition of beauty. Unfortunately, the mother did not agree. The mom found herself to be fat. Her mother's insecurities were fed to the daughter and absorbed. Shit, I thought. We can really mess these broads up for LIFE!!! Seriously though, my mind wandered..."Did I hug them enough today? Did I tell them I loved them? Did I tell them they were beautiful? I swear I will punch the first SOB that tells them differently square in the throat? I watch my girls frolic around in their swimsuits all day without a care in the world. How can I protect that spirit?

So many ideas and concerns surfaced about what am I saying to my children about their body when I speak of my body. I have discussed with many moms about how they wished they had just lost those last 15 lbs before the summer. I am guilty. Hell, just the other day I contemplated going on a thirty mile bike ride to "tone up" for my upcoming vacation. I have been squatting and I am pleased with the results so far. Anyway...back to swimwear. For years, I rocked tankini's and one pieces. Please note that I see nothing wrong with them. I just felt like I did not have the body for a bikini. I am comfortable with saying I don't have a Pamela Anderson body. It would be physically impossible being that she has 10 toes and all...giggle. But when did thin become so sexy? Marilyn Monroe was the epitome of sexiness and she was not a size 0.

Well,it took some great friends to tell me "Bitch, rock a two piece because you look hot". So, I went out in search for a couple of bikini's. I grabbed them and ran nervously to the dressing room at which time I am sure I entertained other customers while trying them on with my commentary.."wtf...look at my ass? Is that my ass? Damn breastfeeding! Holy hell, what am I doing with my life?" Then the picture taking started with my iphone. I sent images of myself to my Bikini Support Group...luckily not the ones with me bent over while looking at the cellulite dimples on the back of my ass. Their responses warmed my heart. This group is not the type to sugar coat shit. They were all "Bitch, we told you!" and I loved them even more at that point. All this time, I was thinking "mama still got it" with a disclosure on the end. I bought the damn things and asked the sales girl if I could return them if I should go home and my husband burst into laughter. She gave me a blank stare and said yes.

On the way home, I thought I was going to vomit. Was I stepping out of my comfort zone?  Was I ready to show the world my "lovely lady lumps"? Was I trying to be someone I am not? I ran into the house with what felt like an illegal substance. I put one on and walked my ass into our front yard while the SBF was cutting the grass. Let's just say this was the first time ever that he did not mind me bothering him while he was doing yard work. His "Damnnnnnn" response was comforting. As, I came back into the house feeling a little better about  my decision. I ran into the three divas and they squealed. "Mama, you look awesome! Mama you are hot!" Instead of saying "Are you sure?" I responded..."Thanks, I really like them too."

Okay, I was lying to them. I didn't feel it just yet. I retreated back to my safe house and examined myself thoroughly. We can be our harshest critics. I have come to terms with the breastfeeding boobs, dimpled thighs, my lymph node removal scar in my groin area, my nine toes, and my kangaroo pouch. They are my war wounds and who the hell does not want to be seen as a warrior.

So, I wore them on a girls trip and even posted pics  on FB. And guess what.....I started to like the damn things and realized all of this time I was hiding my imperfections because I did not look like those Victoria Secret models or post baby celebrities with trainers. I had secretly drank the kool aid and didn't even know it. My body has imperfections, but "MAMA STILL GOT IT". I was hiding behind one pieces and cover ups because I didn't look like the bikini models. Shit!!! Those bikini models can go to hell. They have not lived my life despite the fact that they may have children, they may have breastfed, and may even be my age.

Last night as I began to fill up my bikini bag for a trip to the beach, I felt a little discomfort creep up. Do I really want to go to the beach with a two piece and three children? There's going to be a lot of bending over. So, I tried on a recently purchased bikini and followed in the footsteps of "Miss B". I wore that damn thing all night long while folding clothes, loading the dishwasher, and cleaning our house. The Divas followed me around showering me with wonderful statements of how beautiful I looked. This time, I responded differently. I told them..."Thanks, I know!! I really love some bikini's". And to be a little melodramatic I swear I could hear "Born free....as free as the wind blows....." playing in the background.

Hopefully, this will start the foundation of my girls feeling comfortable with the bodies they have. I was comfortable in the bikini. I just was not comfortable with not looking like the images in the magazines.

Never do I want these Divas to not love their forever changing bodies. I will be their biggest fan and their biggest cheerleader because I am their mom. I will also be my biggest fan and my biggest cheerleader. If I am willing to do it for them, I can do it for myself.

 

So ladies...the summer is going by fast. Life is going by fast. Don't waste your time hiding your body because it does not add up to the expectations of society. My advice: "Do you boo! Cause if you like it. I love it" You rock whatever the hell you want whether it's a bikini, tankini, or one piece because you love your body. So, let's show our girls pride, confidence, and self love.

Say it with me and say it like you mean it...."MAMA STILL GOT IT"

...Dear French 75

Dear French 75 (aka as French 57 according to my FB post or Heinz 57 according to my FB friends),

I am writing a letter to thank you for a wonderful evening, but it's over. After a long week of work and kids, I was hoping to unwind after a successful committee meeting. You were my poison of choice. Obviously, I was feeling classy and on top of life. Your citrusy taste was refreshing to my soul. The hint of gin reminded me of my college years. My last encounter with gin lead to me taking
my tights off during a football game and shouting "Gin will make you sin!" The champagne was my savior. As I sipped your sweet nectar, I could feel my mouth finally relaxing. No longer was I the mother walking around with her teeth clenched and her hands in tight balls. I was a woman. I was not a "light weight". I was feeling strong.

I thank you for making me believe it would be a great idea to mix you with a delicious but rather spicy plate of shrimp and grits. I was able to ignore the runny nose and sweating. I could feel no pain. I would like to thank you for convincing me to have another round. By this time, I was the least bit phased by the thunderstorm that caused the lights to go out in the restaurant. I was more concerned with a phone call home at which time I discovered that my husband had gone to Target with our children. HOW DARE HE DO THIS TO ME? I LOVE TARGET.

I would like to thank you for making me feel so great about life that I gave you a FB shout out at which time I discovered Kathy Lee Gifford was at the same location. Without thinking twice, I grabbed the first waiter I could find in the dark and asked "Where is she?" Luckily, she was gone. I was not at my best. Thank you for convincing me it would be a great idea to go get something out of my car during a monsoon and then return to the restaurant to finish chatting up with my friends. Never mind that I was soaking wet and weaving between tables in the dark.

Thanks for bringing out my alter ego "Lohan" short for Lindsey Lohan on the way home. My circle of friends were quite entertained with phone calls and texts because I am sure they have missed her. Lohan is often the life of the party and is notorious for surfacing at Snoop Dog concerts and football events. She does not mind puking all over the steps of a building in front of everyone nor does she mind passing out in her yard.

The SBF and kids came home to find Lohan soaking wet and passed out across our bed. A shining moment that will go down in the books. Thanks for the massive headache that woke me up at 6 am. Thanks for knocking off those last 5 lbs I wanted to lose before our vacation on Monday. I never knew my body could produce something that resembled that of Heinz 57 sauce. Thank you for allowing my husband to sleep through my screams "I am on fire!" He needed his rest.

Most of all thank you for allowing me to forget that I have responsibilities called CHILDREN. Children that could give two shits about a hangover. They have to eat. Children that don't care how much my head hurts. They want to give me a play by play about how they stayed up till midnight watching a scary movie because daddy said it was okay. Thanks for allowing my youngest to practice her "beauty shop" skills on my head. An idea I came up with, so I could sleep on the couch in the playroom. My hair had dried into an "old school Al Sharpton hair do". Now it's a shiny from a massive amount of leave in conditioner and grease that I allowed her to put in my hair just to sleep. I look like f------g James Brown.

Thank you for giving me the strength to venture out to Wal-Mart without a shower, without brushing my teeth, and sporting dirty clothes to get the damn beach toys and towels that I promised to buy the girls today. Dehydrated and delusional, I spent an obscene amount of money on noodles, pails, shovels, kites, glow sticks, glow necklaces, glow bracelets, goggles, sand molds, sand shakers and Fourth of July light up things. My disguise of choice...sunglasses and a hat fooled no one. I thoroughly enjoyed running into coworkers and friends. I appreciate them listening to me when I warmed them "don't come to close. I am hung over."

So, f--- you French 75!! It was good while it lasted, but I must move on. I just have no room for you in my life. Thanks for the one night stand and the unexpected bitch slap at the end. You may have won this slap off contest, but you hit like a bitch. That Mother's Cure has done far more damage and has been with me through the good times and the bad times for a couple of years now. She has my heart. I will never stray away...unless Prosecco comes to visit.

Sincerely,

My two middle fingers

...Mother's Cure

I looked at our calendar on the fridge last night and was floored with the date. Is it really almost July? Where has the summer gone? Holy hell the madness of back to school will be here before we know it. I was shocked by the anxiety that I felt. Am I anxious because I will miss them or is it homework? Is it the fact that the youngest is entering preK and the bitch barely knows her numbers? Is it the fact that everyone that resides in this house thinks that I am a walking Wikipedia?

With summer comes the welcoming of pool parties, porch parties, beach parties, splash parties, slip n slide parties, and any gathering that involves enjoying the weather, the sunsets, and the fireflies with family and friends. With it also comes hours spent at a hot ass park or pool while you watch your child do the same stupid ass flips over and over again. The profanity increases and exhaustion starts to eat away at all of your hopes, dreams, aspirations, and desires.

So, let's celebrate this last week in June with a cocktail!! Let's take our cups and fill them and toast to not running away just yet. Let's toast to the fact that our cups truly runneth over. What should our poison of choice be? Try one of my fave drinks to serve called Mother's Cure.

The recipe is listed below and I swear it will cure the shitty summer blues, the tired as hell blues, and the what the hell am I doing with my life blues. Let today be a mother's cure movement. It's time. I see us moms in the grocery stores, the department stores, gas stations, toy stores, book stores, and you name it. I see the illness eating away at our souls in all of us. You have to have the summer blues. It's very easy to diagnose being that I am currently a victim. The kids are winning and we must fight back.

Today, I will cure myself from the sheer rage I  felt when I was talking to the SBF this morning....

SBF: I really need to get on my lesson plans for the girls this summer. They will have all of July to
work on the assignments.

Bubble over my head: WTF did he just say? Lesson plan...HELL NAW!! He can kiss my ass. HE IS
NOT A TEACHER. HE HAS NO TEACHING EXPERIENCE. Jesus be my shield

ME: Really? I think the girls are fine. Miss B will eventually learn that the last letter of her name
does not start with the number 14. Also, the teaching methods have changed so much that we may
teach them the wrong method.

SBF: Well, it's not the method I am worried about. I'm going to focus on common core.

Bubble over my head: I have had less than five hours of sleep. I really don't give a shit if these kids
can read right about now. AND you travel mister. So, who the f______ is going to implement this
lesson plan/common core shit? NOT IT!!!!! Why does he say stupid shit in the morning? Is this real
life?

ME: Great idea. I'm going to go back to sleep for a couple of minutes. I suddenly have a headache. I
guess the sleep deprivation is catching up with me. (POSITIVE THINKING)

As I rolled over to stare off into the abyss, I said a little prayer...

Dear Lord, please let there be enough Tito's in the cabinet for my Mother's Cure. And watch over my children and husband today. Put your arm around my shoulder, your hand over my mouth, and your foot upon my foot...so that I will not kick the SBF in his throat this morning. AMEN 


So get cured now because the madness will not get better...it will just change in a couple of months. I command you to call up your frands, invite their kids if you have too, get some buckets and a water hose (no this will not lead to waterboarding), and put them outside to play. Don't bother with something fancy!! Just do it. Cheers!!!

 Mother’s Cure

•    12 oz frozen pink lemonade concentrate                              

•    1 lemonade container full of vodka

•    3-12 oz beers

•    2-12 oz sprites

 Stir together, chill and enjoy!



A comment from a friend's mother after having just one cup of Mother's Cure:

 "I don't know what's in Mother's Cure, but I been cured." 

 

Let me know what you think!!

 



 

A while back, Southern Living, did a write up on how people party for games in Oxford, MS. They came by our tent and took a picture and wrote down the recipe for Mother's Cure. Let's hope we see this recipe in Southern Living one day. 

Public Service Announcement: Please drink responsibly. Many of my friends both female and male have been found ass up and face down in the grass or finding themselves toying with how much fun streaking would be!!

 

.......B.D.K.M.V

I was having a pretty good day at work today. I got my paperwork turned in, tested some ears, returned emails....basically a productive day. To top that off, a young coworker had just finished complementing me on my outfit. So, my happy ass decided to take a short cut via nature trail through the woods to another building. I was feeling good...looking good...and dammit...

My ankle sort of gives out and I rip my damn shoe...in the middle of the woods. Shit! So, I hobbled back to my office and passed the coworker who was now looking at me like wth??

Never have I let having my big toe amputated stop me. I refuse to let it slow me down. I'm not ashamed. It is what it is. So....

Today was no different from any other day. Yep, I taped my shoe together. Technically, my foot is taped to my shoe. Giggle (it's okay to giggle). And as I walk to my car, I will hold my head high so the world may see that "Mama still got it" ...tape and all. Ha!!

Really, the sad part is I could give two shits what it looks like. I actually think it's hilarious to say the least and the best way to get a new pair of shoes out of the SBF. So, if you are having a bad day look at whatever is bringing you down and tell it.......

                         B.D.K.M.V

At least, that's what I chose to do today. This positive thinking may be working after all. 

....positive thinking

As a mother, I am sometimes frightened by the thoughts that run through my head. I am pretty sure if the bubble over my head was visible to the world, I would be in deep shit. Lately though, I feel like my children and husband can read my mind. They know what I am really thinking and it scares me. So, I have decided to try to channel positive thoughts. I found an old email about how you know you need to pray at work and realized that some of the examples were very similar to what I face everyday as a parent. My examples are listed below.....

Number 1
TRY THINKING: I think you should maybe call a plumber.
INSTEAD OF: You don't know what the f___ you're doing.

Number 2
TRY THINKING: She's just going through the terrible 2, 3, and 4s.
INSTEAD OF: She's a f___ing bitch.

Number 3
TRY THINKING: Perhaps I can fold all 12 loads of clothes by myself.
INSTEAD OF: And when the f___ do you expect me to do this?

Number 4
TRY THINKING: I'm certain there are no monsters under your bed.
INSTEAD OF: No f___ing way possible.

Number 5
TRY THINKING: Really? Well, accidents happen.
INSTEAD OF: You've got to be shitting me. You did not just spill a jug of f____ing milk on the floor!

Number 6
TRY THINKING: Perhaps you should tell your father...
INSTEAD OF: Tell someone who gives a shit.

Number 7
TRY THINKING: I don't know where you left your keys, dear.
INSTEAD OF: It's not my f___ing problem..

Number 8
TRY THINKING: That's interesting after a recap of a Max & Ruby episode by Miss B.
INSTEAD OF: What the f___? Max is an asshole.

Number 9
TRY THINKING: I'm not sure if mommy can fix this toy broken into 26 pieces, but I will try.
INSTEAD OF: This shit won't work.

Number 10
TRY THINKING: Yes, I'll try to make the birthday party on such short notice.
INSTEAD OF: Why the f___ didn't you tell me sooner?

Number 11
TRY THINKING: He's had a hard day at work and needs time to decompress.
INSTEAD OF: He's got his head up his ass.

Number 12
TRY THINKING: The guy who just cut me off in traffic with my children in the car must have an emergency.
INSTEAD OF: Eat shit and die.

Number 13
TRY THINKING: So you didn't like the meal mommy cooked? Was it to spicy? I'm sorry it was "kinda sorta nasty".
INSTEAD OF: Kiss my ass.

Number 14
TRY THINKING: I'm exhausted. Wonder if he will mind doing bath time tonight?
INSTEAD OF: F__ it, I'm going to bed.

Number 15
TRY THINKING: I don't think he understands how much it bothers me that he leaves his shoes all over the place.
INSTEAD OF: He can shove those shoes up his ass.

Number 16
TRY THINKING: I think it's time for her nap.
INSTEAD OF: I wish she would go the f___ to sleep and shut the f___ up.

Number 17
TRY THINKING: Maybe, I should try to spend less money.
INSTEAD OF: Who the f___ died and made him boss?

Number 18
TRY THINKING: He's somewhat insensitive at times.
INSTEAD OF: It's his mother's fault that he acts this way.

Number 19
TRY THINKING: Maybe it's time for mommy to go to time out.
INSTEAD OF: As soon as the sun sets, I'm going to pack my shit and leave.

Number 20
TRY THINKING: Gosh, I was really enjoying the five minutes I get to watch TV, but of course you can turn it on PTI.
INSTEAD OF: Bitch don't kill my vibe

If you are caught in a world of negative thinking, maybe these suggestions will help you channel positive thoughts. Because I am positive I will shank one of these individuals in my house if I don't.

Namaste Mother F_____s!!

... i love my frannnnnnds!!!!!!!!

If I did not have access to adult conversation, I am pretty sure I would be in an asylum by now. With parenting, you often find yourself in exile. Your everyday encounters involve trying to communicate with little people that have no sense of reality. Their conversations are often one sided, selfish, and mentally draining. How many times can you discuss why there are spiders in the world or why does Santa Claus only come once a year? I try my best not to cringe when my oldest says "Can I ask you a question?" Most of the times, the questions are just damn ridiculous and the answers I come up with only reaffirm that I have lost all the brain cells left. "Mommy, why can't dinosaurs still be alive?" I can only muster up "If they were still alive, they would eat us." Pretty smart right??

The older I get the more I realize that adult conversations are my life line. I don't need thought provoking. I need honesty and laughter with a touch of nonsense. I have been very lucky in that department. I am apart of many different but wonderful social circles that feed my soul. I think one of the damn topics in What to Expect When You Are Expecting should be dedicated to the importance of "fraaaands". Not the ones, that are going to rip you because you decided to say the hell with breastfeeding or the ones that believe you are going to hell for giving your child a Happy Meal or even those that gawk at the fact that you indeed enjoy having sex with your husband on a regular basis because it's free and it's fun and there is nothing else to do sometimes. Those will leave you with a shit full of self doubt.

If you are the kind that would like to avoid the need to medicate, then I suggest you better "FRANDICATE". Find at least one person or a group of people that you can talk to or shoot the shit with. The older we get, the harder it is to make new friends because I think we are searching for these deep friendships. It's hard to start over at this point at my age and try to catch a person up on all of the shit that has happened to me and why I am the way I am. So, I have discovered that you can have fun fulfilling friendships on many different levels.

The ones that you call in the middle of the night because your child has run a fever of 101.8 for two days and you got your ass on WebMD. The ones that will talk to you till 2 am about how shitty life is and then remind you how blessed you are. The ones that will do a human pyramid with you in the grass just because the shit sounds fun. The ones that don't blink an eye when you admit that you don't have your shit together because they don't have their shit together either. The ones that will give you a happy pill when you are crying in Wal-Mart over sleep deprivation. The ones that will take pictures of you at your worse, so you can enjoy them later. The ones that will tell you to go stay in a hotel and get some rest because you are about to teeter into a dark place. The ones that will make you throw your grannie panties in the garbage while on vacation. The ones that will bring you DVDs on how to please your man just to make sure you remain on top of your game. The ones that will say "You are Neo from the Matrix" after surviving lighting and melanoma. The ones that will send you The Little Engine that Could. The ones that immediately tell you that you look nice. The ones so content with what they have and who they are that they open their arms to you.

We waste so much time comparing are parenting styles, religious beliefs, bodies, discipline methods, and bedtimes. Never admitting our faults, but just glorifying our victories. Showing how we have succeeded as a parent. I don't want to hear that shit. I want to hear that bedtime is hard for you. I want to hear that you too have screamed at your children. I want to hear that you too have flipped off your kids behind their backs or have had a road rage encounter that almost warranted the police.

When it all boils down to it....you have to do what is best for your family. There is no golden rule for parenting and everyone at some point will screw the shit up. So on those days when you have just flipped out and thrown a pair of flip flops into the darkness of a pit of kudzu in the yard, don't retreat in shame. Take that incident and store in a folder in your brain to reveal to your "fraaaands" when you get together. There is something so rewarding and freeing about honesty. When we start realizing that what others do is not a reflection of what we should be doing or where we are lacking in life, I swear there will be peace in the valley.

So go forth and find you some "fraaaands" even when you think you don't have time to add another person to your life. Look for quality more than quantity. Look for the ones that will cheer you on
when you come dressed as a hooker for a Great Gatsby party. Look for the ones that will hold your

hair back when it's time for you to deposit into the porcelain bowl the bad decision to take that third shot. Look for the ones that will watch you as you hold onto the grass after a night of over indulgence and reassure you that it happens to all of us at one point. Look for the ones that say it's okay to be a slut for  your husband...as long as you enjoy it.

Those friends will be the ones that will help you most when you are in your dark place of "wtf am I doing with my life?". They will give you the "atta girl" when you confess that you are driving around in the dark crying after you have put the kids to bed because you want to run away, but you can't because you love them too much. They will tell to you get the hell off of WebMD and take your ass to bed. They will make you laugh until you vomit. They will let you have your moments of self pity and self doubt then politely say "Ok. Get it together bitch and I love your crazy ass."


One of the biggest lessons I have learned is that all of my frands are different and offer me different kinds of comfort, advice, and support.

When I need the frand to meet me at happy hour, I am thankful to have her in my life. When I need the frand to give me a bible verse to read, I am thankful to have her in my life. Some are needed for certain aspects in your life and that's okay. No one out there can be your everything in the world. I can't do it for my children. So, I sure as hell can't do it for my friends.

Shout out to my "fraaands" for they bring joy to my soul. They love me...nine toes and all. They know that when I refer to my three divas as "those little bitches" that I mean no harm and don't love my children any less. They have encouraged me to share my sense of humor through this blog and have shared it with others. They leave inappropriate comments on my FB page that cause me to spit all over myself. They laugh with me and at me. They mourned with me over the death of James Gandolfini and admitted they too thought Tony Soprano was sexy. They see why I was awarded Parent of the Year at my middle child's elementary school and applaud me like I just won Miss America. They shout my name like "Norm" from Cheers when I show up for "porch time". They tell me my mom would have been so proud or better yet they tell me I seem a lot like my mom. They do this because I am them and they are me just someone trying her best to get her strips of paper together and show them to the world with no filters.

 

 

An author of one of my most fave books, asked what I wanted her to write in my signed copy of her book. "To a wonderful mother of three" seemed to fit just fine. Hell, if I don't believe it who else will!! My fraands will look at this and say "You're a good mama, but bitch is that all you could think of?" and I will laugh so hard that I snort and my heart is warmed.

...And the bad mommy award goes to

Life events have given me a wicked sense of humor and a quick tongue. I can be a smart ass at times and I take pride in it. Today not so much...

...first day of summer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...dirty laundry

Last night, I entered a very dark place in my life. I try not to visit this place often because it drives me to searching for airline flights and hotel packages. I actually contemplate abandonment. This dark hole that I sometimes enter is triggered by a couple of things. The culprit last night was laundry. For some, you may think how a common household chore could cause me to contemplate skipping town, but I hate it.

Confession of a mother: I hate laundry.

I actually remember being kind of excited in college when I had to do my own laundry. I felt free, independent, and so grown up. I would go down three flights of stairs to our dorm basement and happily throw my ONE basket in the washing machine. It was so much fun chatting over the humming of the machines with other friends over how wasted I got the previous night. "Damn," I thought "this is the life." I was a successful student.

After I got married, I admit that I was so giddy with the newness of having a mate that I loved folding our laundry. I was up to doing two baskets. Yep, I was a woman now. We were broke as shit the first year of marriage and had to use the laundry mat in our one bedroom apartment complex. The SBF and I would even go together and talk and laugh and toss socks at each other. I was in paradise. I was a good wife.

With my first pregnancy, I would spend countless hours before her birth washing and folding and refolding and being engulfed in the smell of Dreft. My life was coming full circle and I felt complete. Everything was color coordinated and categorized. My motherly instinct had kicked in and I was winning.

Fast forward to 2013 and at this moment I am surrounded by 12 loads of laundry and I am angry. A family of five can produce a shit load of clothes...an amount that is slowing eating away at my emotional stability. With summer, comes bathing suits, beach towels, swim trunks, cover ups and sand. Also, my children make sure to waste at least two damn beverages a day that I just throw a towel over to hide the mess until I am ready to deal with it. They also feel the need to have two wardrobe changes a day. Needless to say, the fun I associate with laundry is gone. Now, I find myself plotting how to approach the enemy. Should I start with a glass of champagne or three to take the edge off.  Maybe watching some crappy Bravo TV will allow me to fold productively?

 Confession of a mother: Laundry makes me think of doing illegal drugs.

 

After 10 years, you would think I would have a handle on this mass production, but I don't. I try to do a load a day, but instead I do 10 in a week. I have asked the girls recently to help me which only leads to me wondering if that second glass of wine did something to them because their folding is shitty and they fail to see the importance in hanging clothes in color groups. I immediately send them off to do a chore and I ignore Miss B who has rummaged through my baskets only to start walking around in my bra or "brawer" as she calls it.  AND it never fails that somehow an American Girl outfit finds its way into my load of shit. By the end of this reoccurring nightmare, I enter into my black hole filled with many questions. "Is this real life?" "Is this it?" "What am I doing with my life?'  and after my meds...it's all "Where am I?" "Who am I?" "Wonder if he would notice me withdrawing cash to have someone secretly wash and fold my clothes?" "Damn, a cleaning lady would be nice. Could I hide her from him?"

Actually, sometimes I feel like setting fire to the dirty laundry hampers or better yet "airing my dirty laundry" by throwing all the shit in the front yard and calling it a day. I often wonder if I had a new washer/dryer and a nicely decorated laundry room would cause me to ignore the panties with shit streaks, the socks that smell like pickles, the musty shirts, and items that smell like just plain ass. I even wonder if a new red washer and dryer would cause me to sing and dance while I am on my 8th load at one o'clock in the morning. Right now our washer often jumps over six inches in the spin cycle which the frugal SBF thinks is perfectly normal. Our current washer and dryer was our first purchase as a married couple and for some sick reason it has sentimental value. When they do finally stop working, I wonder if that will be symbolic of my sanity. One day, I even wrote a note saying "It will all come out in the wash" on my cute little framed chalkboard on my laundry room door in hopes that my frustrations and anger would magically disappear upon entering the room from hell. I think I may just change it to "Closed for business due to health department regulations".

I know there are far more serious things in life to fret over, but I grew up watching Leave It To Beaver. June Cleaver was always so happy, patient, and her house was clean. She seemed so happy to serve her family. Well, now I think the she was baked half of the time. Honestly, I hate that bitch. So, what do I do about this ever growing dilemma of laundry psychosis? I have tried expressing to the SBF that I have contemplated participating in illegal laundry service trafficking.

 Me to the SBF: You think I am a maid. The SBF to me: You think I am your sugar daddy.

 

Damn, I wish I could cut him sometimes. He has often tried to help me by separating the clean clothes into baskets by family member and leaving them in the middle of the living room floor. He also takes the time to put 1000 single socks in a basket and to him his work is done.

 

I know the laundry will get done. Bullshit, the laundry will never stop. As I sit in the floor trying to pair up 1000 single socks, I find myself thinking about Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind. And I hear myself whispering...

 

"As God is my witness, as God is my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never do laundry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I'll never do laundry again."

...heart break

So, I had just finished typing up my summer fun list post when my two oldest girls ran into the bedroom in a panic. Yes...it's almost midnight and they are still up...it's summer. Anyway, they sprint into our room barely able to get their words out. They hear Abby (our bird) in a panic outside. We have checked on Abby and her eggs at least four times a day. We have worried about her decision to nest in the middle of our yard instead of around our tree. We have seen a fox patrolling our neighborhood the last couple of nights. Being the great parents that we are, we don't rush to go check on her. The SBF found the girls holding hands and praying. Such a touching and shocking sight made him rush to get a flashlight to go check on Abby. The sickness he felt when he approached an empty nest was heart wrenching to say the least. He slowly came back in to find two of his little girls still holding hands and praying. Their hearts were broken with the news. The emotions I felt were all over the place. I was so proud to see them pray without being told, but my heart ached with each tear they shed.

They never cease to amaze me to the point that I ask myself if they are even my children. Their hearts are so pure and innocent at times. We consoled them the best we could, but I would have given anything to take their pain away. For one second, I contemplated running the damn fox over with my SUV the next time I saw him.

I realized that "reality" is what I want to shield them from the most. A world full of sugarplums and gumdrops is what I wish I could promise them. I struggle everyday with protecting them from the bad things that will happen, but it is inevitable. I will do my best to guard their hearts and their spirits and honestly, I will probably run the damn fox over.

I went out to patrol the yard and I could see Abby a few feet away. She was squawking and flying around. I watched her day in and out protect her four eggs through the heat, through the storms. Unfortunately, it was just not enough. I was shocked that she reminded me of myself during my pregnancies. My oldest was born at 24 weeks and 2 days at 1 lb 8 oz. She is our miracle baby to say the least. Every pregnancy after that, I swear I took every precaution I could to "cook" my babies to well done. I remember basically tiptoeing around and actually squeezing every muscle down there to help hold them in. Sounds crazy, but I am sure it is what any mother would do. I had two successful full term babies and one ectopic pregnancy in between them. So, my heart ached for Abby. I had watched her do all that she could. I could not help but to remember the things I had to tell myself to keep from feeling like a failure. My heart goes out to anyone who has lost a baby or child. The devastation that one feels is suffocating. Any loss of any kind can rip you apart. I was forever changed after the death of my mother. But time heals...every day starts to suck a little less and you find that you are soon able to breath again.

I realized this will not be the last time they will encounter heart break. There will be death. There will be little boys that will break their hearts and cause me to stalk them in the middle of the night. I often imagine myself re-enacting the scene from The Help when she tells the little girl "you is kind. you is smart. you is important" or better yet I will pay tribute to my mother and grab their beautiful faces and tell them "it's because you are pretty and they are ugly". Damn, there will be disappointments. There will be hard times. Those times will just be seasons of reality.

All I can offer them is love and comfort and reassurance that they will survive anything they encounter. I will offer myself as an example that it does get easier. My life has been changed in so many ways. Letting go of how I thought my life would turn out was the best thing I could have done besides seeking a psychiatrist.

I am pretty sure it will take serious medication to make it through the years with these three little divas that I love the shit out of. Three little divas that I love so much that I have now decided to purchase a dozen wild animal traps for that damn fox.....bastard!  
 

...my summer fun list

Let me tell you, this summer fun list for myself has been harder than I thought. With the birth of each child, I have learned more about myself as a mother. I have successfully made my children my number one priority and by doing this I have lost pieces of myself. I honestly don't know what I would like to do for fun that would involve just me and not these three little shits that have such a tight grip on my heart.

The guilt that parents deal with is insane. Have we become so brainwashed that we have lost the very essence of who we are? I have stated before that becoming a mother and a wife is like taking a nice stack of stationary and shoving it down a shredder one piece of paper at a time. I love my shreds of paper, but I have had a hell of a time trying to find the strips that are just me. The funny partying girl in college is long gone and will not return. I have tried to bring her back and realized vomiting all of the steps of the Snoop Dog concert at the age of 35 is not cute. Especially, when that SBF is trying to give me a lecture on "why he's not going to kick it with me anymore". Really...could he just have held my hair back like old times and shut the hell up?

As I type, Miss B has stated 18 damn times that she has vomited in her mouth, her toe itches, and there is something growing out of her arm. She just asked me "Mama, what kind of dreams do you have? I have bad dreams like I am stuck in your trunk and that's why I get in bed with you at night". I feel bad because I want to tell her to please just watch The Smurfs and shut the hell up. She does not want to know about my dreams. She wants to monopolize the conversation and scare me with her morbid lies and stories. My dreams...well the ones at night include a reoccurring dream that I am not prepared for class. I spend hours in panic because I have to take an exam for a class that I did not attend all semester. I wonder what this means? My daytime dreams involve sitting peacefully on my porch while my children run, giggle, and pick flowers. I often find myself pretending I am on the beach with a drink in my hand, sand between my toes and then Carlos my waiter comes to adjust my umbrella and he tells me....."Mama, I don't want to die." WTF did she just ask me. I am slapped back to reality and now wondering why must I entertain a question about death. Carlos was just going to tell me that my appointment to go horseback riding on the beach was scheduled. Damn dream killer!

So, maybe the only way I can come up with a list is to think about where my mind wanders and what my soul yearns for sometimes.

MY SUMMER TO FUN LIST:

 

1. I will read an entire book and not feel one slither of guilt. I will not beat myself up for reading instead of folding laundry, doing dishes, or playing Barbie dolls.
2. Every night, I will venture into the playroom that they never play in and I will throw a toy away in hopes that they will begin to appreciate the shit they have. I will not be ashamed of the joy I feel during this process because every day they break something of mine.
3. I will watch what I want to watch during daylight hours while my children are awake. I will not wait until they have gone to sleep. I will tell them this is my room and I am going to watch a "mommy" show and make them go away. If my demands are unsuccessful, I will make sure to turn on Stephen King's IT and let them innocently walk into the room.
4. I will sit on my front porch to smell my gardenias by myself.  I will not scream at them to stop calling my name, but instead put my ear buds in and close my eyes.
5. I will shit in peace at least once a week. I will lock the door and shove a towel under it to avoid any attempts of conversation and demands. I will announce I need privacy.
6. I will listen to one song that I want to listen to in the car at least one time a day. Kidz Bop can bite me.
7. I will use my over sized bathtub for myself at least once a month. I will not allow it to always be a pool, a hide and go seek location, or a place to catch the SBF's toenail clippings.re.
8. I will sit beside my sexy bald fella. On the days that I have not threatened to go streaking through the neighborhood because he is taking a nap, I will cuddle up next to him. I will not wait for the sun to go down, but will cuddle with this man during the day when we are all piled up on the couch watching some ridiculous kid show....BECAUSE I WAS HERE FIRST.
9. I will arrange a pool date with my girl friends. Every summer, I spend countless hours at the pool with the three divas. We are the family that shuts the pool down because one of my pukes in the damn water. There is nothing relaxing when you have three kids at the pool. So, I will lay out with my friends and my wine and I will laugh and nap. We will talk trash about our families and my soul will smile.
10. At least once a week, I will make them be quiet and look out the window sometimes.  I will stop attempting to answer all of the questions they ask me in the car. I can attribute 75% of my road rage to the fact that I have tried to figure out what boogers are made of or where birds sleep? They will look out the window at the beautiful trees and flowers or they can close their damn eyes. Either way, there will be silence.

So, what is your summer list? Do you dare? It was very difficult coming up with ten things that I would like to do. Confession: I was so curious about the journey I was about to take that I resorted to googling "a mother's summer fun list" and barely found shit. 90% of the few I did come across involved children. This made me want to puke.

I love my children, but it can't  be healthy for me to continue to fill my days with keeping them happy. So damnit, I have a list now.  By number 5, I started to feel a touch of guilt. I began questioning whether or not I really do those things and don't realize it. By number 7, I was starting to think I was a selfish bitch of a mother who would for sure ruin her daughters. But, I got my shit together and came up with something.

 

If we are not better to ourselves, we will not be better for them. In my case they will get a worn out mother walking around with clenched teeth, and a damn eye twitch. And that my friends is not how I shall roll!!! Funny how I started to title my list "a mommy's bucket list" and by the time I finished typing this I found myself wanting to replace the "B" in bucket with "F'.

 

...I love that man of mine

A past FB shout out to that sexy bald fella...

"While lying on a blanket at the girls' cheerleading practice, I ran into this hot bald fella I met in front of Hume Hall almost 16 years ago. He hadn't changed a bit...cuffed sleeves, sunglasses, killer smile......then his children ran over and called me mommy.

This pretty much sums up what I experience some days and I make sure to type SOME days because parenting is hard and marriage is harder. There are days where I wish we could "break up" for at least the weekend and the holiday months where I contemplate writing out divorce papers that cover the months of November-February. Sometimes I question his decision to let the children watch a documentary on slavery. There are days when I look outside and ask myself "Wtf is he doing. Did he just toss one of my children 10 feet in the air???" or "Is he on his lawnmower in the snow? Damn moron is going to kill one of my children" But in between the dysfunction, the arguments, the exhaustion, and the doubt if we are doing things right, there is a laughter and a love that fills this house.

I am pretty sure I have already done enough damn things to damage my children, but I have done one thing right. I have given them one of the most wonderful, patient, and caring fathers.

Our parenting styles are completely different, but as I get older, I realize they balance out the dynamics of our house. He gets up in the morning, cutting up fresh pineapple, mangos, melons, strawberries, and bananas. I make sure we have a steady stock of the essentials: Cheetos, Nutella, candy, ice cream, popsicles, pretzels, and popcorn. The good stuff (giggle). He makes sure the children brush their teeth every night. I don't. He plays with them and actually enjoys it. I have taken time to watch him while he re-enacts a Barbie Real Housewives of the Playroom saga and I swear I think he enjoys it. And of course he usually wins our Friday night family dance offs.

I couldn't help but look over at the sexy bald fella while he slept last night. A five hour nap had me wide awake in the wee hours of the morning, but there was a calmness around me. The ticking of our bedroom clock in combination with Josh's freight train snoring let me know I am where I am suppose to be. Many a nights I have contemplated smothering the sexy bald fella with a pillow due to the unnatural sounds he makes while breathing, but at that second I just let him be. These sounds let me know he is here and he is present. I walk in the bedroom sometimes and catch him napping in the most unusual positions and I wonder if we have killed him. He is outnumbered..."bless his heart".

His sense of humor, his love for his daughters and his determination to be a sound provider make my job easier. Now he's not perfect. There is plenty of shit that literally makes me want to punch him in the throat. He made sure to inform me that I was shitting green lava during the birth of our second child. He then went on to say our child looked "kinda ugly" to a me (a sleep deprived postpartum mother). To stop our children from pleading to spend the night at a shady neighbor's house, he made up a story about his cousin that was kidnapped at a young age and scared the shit out of them. He has sent each girl to school with clothes on backwards or so many colors that they look like a Reading Rainbow advertisement. He would much rather piss outside then in the house and if he should piss in one of our bathrooms....he sits. Poor man is so afraid the girls may walk in on him that for the last 10 years he actually sits on the potty. 

Do I think he has an easy job ahead of him? Hell no!!! He is their first introduction to what a man should be like. He will teach them what to expect from boys. They will not look to boys for comfort or reassurance because they have him to tell them every day "God is with you. God loves you and you're special".  I am pretty sure they will drive him mad with dating, proms, and weddings, but my soul is at rest because I know "they got a good one".

So, Happy Father's Day to my sexy bald fella, to all the daddies out there, and to the mommies that are daddies too!! I know it can be hard sometimes, but to quote the SBF's favorite rapper..."keep your head up!!"

The girls gave him a portable speaker for Father's Day and handmade cards with ineligible shit scribbled all over them and he was happy. I will be giving him the usual...a sexual favor which always seems to make him even happier.

...a mother's summer fun list

Yes, summer is here. Thank sweet baby Jesus the schedules, the homework, the projects, and the field trips have ceased. I have enjoyed not having to think of how to use "guffaw" in a sentence. I have enjoyed not yanking the pencil out of my oldest child's hand to finish the 100 math problems her teacher sent home and go so far as to write the answers out with my left hand to make it look like a child did it.  I have enjoyed not staying up till 3 am to finish a reading fair project for both children. Confession: I am that mom who helps her children create projects that cause other parents to say "Are you kidding me?" I blame my meds, my touch of OCD, and my love for crafts. I don't pretend to be perfect.

With all of this free time I have to devote to my children, I created a summer to do list. I patiently sat down and wrote out MOST of the things they wanted to do for the summer.  This list would for sure cut down on them creeping into my bed in the morning, pulling back my eye mask, and asking me "What are we going to do today?" I wrote our cute list on the chalkboard in our kitchen and even wrote every item in a different color. I felt complete and whole as a mother.

In reality, that board (as my grandmother used to say) "makes my ass want chewing gum" sometimes. First of all, my youngest proceeds to take her finger (the one she choses to dig in her ass with) and goes across all of the words smearing them. Second of all, there are days when they don't want to do anything on the damn list or hell, I don't want to do anything on the damn list. So, the other day I tried to find the easiest activity that would require the least amount of my participation...random act of kindness.

Off we went into the world to make it a better place by kindness. We ended up at a department store. I was touched when my oldest two chose to by their youngest sister a doll, a skanky ass doll, but a doll. They rushed to me with this doll that looked like she had just come off a meth binge and I cringed. Of course, this is what their youngest sister picked out (she has skanky ways sometimes) and they had the money to buy it. So, what do I do? Shoot down their kind action and listen to Miss B (that's what I call the youngest one sometimes and most days the "B" does not stand for Brooklyn) unleash her banshee scream for all to hear in this store. Delusional and exhausted from a day of VBS, I agreed to the purchase of this slut doll and decided that by Saturday night the doll would have a broken leg and be naked anyway. So to hell with it, the skank can come home with us.

I then decided to venture down a grown up aisle. You know the aisles with towels, cooking utensils, candles, frames and other shit. My middle child found me staring at frames and talking to myself. Now let me to tell you about this child. She drew the worst spot in the family. The poor child is stuck between a goody two shoes and a raging lunatic. Her heart is so pure, she seeks my approval more than I deserve, she is a perfectionist, and overly sensitive. In years to come, I know I will hand her my psychiatrist's business card to help her come to terms with all of the shit she will blame me for. "Mom" she says "Can I buy you this candle as a random act of kindness?" Damn, she is a saint. My knee jerk reaction was to respond "No, sweetie. Mommy has everything she needs." But something stopped me. Hell, I love candles. A house that smells of red currant and not ass brings so much peace to my soul. I am also a firm believer in a house that smells good looks cleaner. So often I decline real gifts from my children and settle for homemade shit that I love for about three days and then find myself going out to the garage in the wee hours of the night to throw the 18th picture they have drawn for me in the garbage. I know this may sound cruel to some, but my children have no problem telling me after I have slaved over a hot meal that my food tastes "kinda sorta nasty" especially my middle child.

So, I agreed to the purchase of a candle. I like gifts and too often I look to my husband to shower me with them, but that is not his language and shall be discussed at a later date. Anyway, we made it to the counter with Bath Salt Lover Betsy for Miss B and a candle for me. The smiles coming from the oldest two warmed my heart. They were so proud and couldn't wait to mark it off their summer list. I walked out with my candle in hand and I realized I couldn't wait to light the damn thing. As stated earlier, I love candles. They feed my soul. I used to be the type to only light my candles when friends visited. I stopped that shit because I realized I deserve to experience a house that smells great just like anybody else. If you find yourself saving anything "for when company comes over", stop it now.

Anyway, we arrived home and with in seconds fighting erupts. I ignored the screams "I know we bought her for you, but can you at least let me hold her" and walked to my bedroom with my candle. I swear I was holding it like a torch in the Olympics and at that point I realized I needed a list too. Yes, it is summer and I want my children to have a great, eventful, fun, and fulfilling summer. Blah blah, blah, blah, blah. But, I want to have a great summer too and honestly making the summer all about what this trio wants will not cut it for me. As a matter of fact, it may lead me to torching shit in my fire pit on my back porch.

Listen, some of the madness that comes with motherhood must end now. I remember spending countless hours outside drinking from a damn hose in the yard and I turned out okay. I remember my mother telling me to go play outside not as punishment, but just because that is what was required of me in the summer. I did not look at her to fulfill every part of my day. I was bored sometimes, but I did not dare tell her I was. If I did, I only said it once. She had no problem telling me "okay, let me find some shit for you to do" and the shit she found was not fun. I turned out okay. So, why are things so different? Why the hell did I let my kids make a board dictating the things they wanted to do for the summer? Where do I draw the line? Am I too accommodating?

So, I have decided that I will make a damn mommy summer fun list if it kills me and I will do everything on the list. In days to come, I will post my list because right now, I struggle with remembering my hopes and aspirations and my likes and dislikes. Seriously though....what in the hell do I want to do for the summer?

To be continued.........

And for shits and giggles until then....