Canceled Flights, Layovers and HUGE Penises

After canceled flights, crazy layovers, complete meltdowns and some loud penis talk we are FINALLY HOME!!!

Terrorists on a Plane

We spent a week back home with my mom in Pierre Part. It wet way too fast and I wish we could have stayed longer.

Playing in the Rain in December

Rural Life Museum

 BUT.....These memories will have to last us at least 3 more years because I'm not traveling with this family again until everyone can carry their own shit and no one craps their pants.

If the flight back home was a test in patience I think I failed miserably (I didn't actually beat anyone or sell a child so I didn't fail completely)

The flight in to Louisiana went fairly well. Straight through flight no melt downs no kids screaming on a plane.  Of course, we own a Jaxon so it wasn't completely without incident and true to form he was completely inappropriate.

Let me set the scene:
I took a whole row and sat with the babies.  (I sat in the aisle seat in order to corral them in to our row)
Derek and Kait were in the aisle across from us.  In front of us were 3 women:  One teenage girl, one lady who looked to be in her mid 50's and on women who had to be in her late 70's.
I buckled Lannie in and then Jaxon.  I proceeded to get snacks and toys sorted for the kids and get their backpacks stashed under the seats.

This is Jaxon

I'm sitting there with my head between my legs trying to shove backpacks under the seats in front of us when I hear "Look Mom!!!" from Jaxon. That usually means he found a piece of lint or something else just as exciting so I didn't initially look up. "What is it bud?"  I should note that at this point we're still at the gate - the plane engines haven't started, people are still filing in and it's fairly quiet.  To my horror (and amusement if I'm being honest) my son replies with "Look at my huge giant PENIS!!!!" I shoot up and stifle a snort/giggle to find my son with the extra portion of the lap belt extended out in front of him showing me his "HUGE GIANT PENIS"....and now that I've snorted he's not stopping.  "Look how giant"  "Huge Penis" "Penis Belt" this shit just kept spewing from his mouth!! The old ladies in front of me looked back in horror (the teenager was giggling) and I think the oldest lady might have had a stroke.  I literally dissolved into a fit of giggles because I'm such a stellar mother...and it was freaking funny.

Dick Jokes Wear You out....

Shortly after Jaxon's spectacle they both crashed out and slept the whole flight in.
In retrospect a few dick jokes isn't that bad of a trade off for 3 hours of peace and quiet.




The flight home was another story all together.  Not a funny one.
Our flight was canceled, we had to stay in a hotel, get a new flight out with a 6 hour layover in Houston.  No one slept, everyone had melt downs and I threatened to lock my son in a restroom stall and leave him there if he didn't quit whining....awesome. (We did get 1st class seats on one leg of the trip...silver lining right?)

Big Red is loving 1st Class

I'll take dick jokes any day......

Lannie Poop-ted

I heard the commotion downstairs but I was in the bath.
I waited until it was quiet before getting out. (Because I am an asshole)

Separated by a floor and soaking in my nice warm bath I only heard bits and pieces of of what was going on.

Derek: "Lannie!  COME HERE!!!"
Lannie:  "Arrrrlge" "Bleeergle"  (I don't understand her on a good day so I have no idea what she said from all the way down there)
Derek: "No!  Do NOT run from me!  Come here!  Ew!  Gross!  COME HERE!!!" "Damnit"!
I suppressed a giggle and got out of the tub.

Since we're working on potty training with the Tiny Terrorist I naturally assumed she peed her pants, or peed on the couch, or on the floor, or on my carpet....typical places that Tiny Terrorist usually pees.

Jaxon met me in the bathroom to debrief me on the situation.  (Have I mentioned that I have NO privacy whatsoever now that the rerrorists have taken over)

Jaxon:  "Mom!  Guess what!!
Me: What Jax
Jax:  Lannie poop-ted!  On the floor!  Then she mushed her feet in it!  Daddy touched it!

What really happened was this:  Lannie peed in her panties and told daddy "Daddy pee" when Daddy got to Lannie he saw the soaked panties and proceeded to remove them.  What he didn't know was that there was a turd lurking in there too.  When he removed the panties the turd fell on the floor.  About this time Lannie tried to run away from daddy and stepped on the turd in the process...

 Kind of wish I would have gotten out of the bath to see this unfold, but somehow I think I would have ended up picking up the poop if I had.
 And I've cleaned up every other terrorist turd before this one.....

(She's still got nothing on her brother who pooped in his sisters room.  He hid it under a lid and left it there.... thinking no one would know.)

The "Poop-stepper"

It Puts the Lotion on It's Skin.....

5 minutes....
It took her 5 minutes to cover all of her exposed skin in butt cream.
This is why I  smoke, and can't get a god-damned thing done...ever.

My kids are ADDICTED to lotion...in a disturbing way (they freak me the fuck out to be honest)  

I have to hide ALL of the lotion in my house.  

Lannie is straight out of silence of the lambs.  She'll rub an entire bottle into her tiny little body then come ask me to "keen-it" (clean it)

True to form Jaxon is just fucking weird about his lotion fetish...he eats it.  He's not even picky.  Perfumed lotion, body butter, generic lotion, baby lotion.... it's all his favorite.

I'm not kidding...we even have a "Lotion Story"  

I'm forever scarred by my kids freaky lotion habit..... It goes like this:

It was the 2nd week in our new house. We had just unpacked all of the boxes and were having our first guests over for dinner; Nick and Jess.  (We also had our first dusting of snow.)

The guys decided to go and pick up Mexican food for dinner.  Meanwhile, Jess and I sat around the table bull-shitting and having a few beers (this time I'm not exaggerating - I had only had 1-1/2 beers at the time of the "incident")

While we talked Lannie and Jax explored the new house and all of the added space.  They were in and out of the living room, going from playroom, to bedrooms, to living room and back again.

About 45 minutes later the guys came back with the food.  It was at this time that I called the kids to the kitchen.

Along came Lannie but no Jaxon, which isn't extremely odd. (He listens about as well as a deaf mule.)  I screamed 2 more times for him before I got irritated.  Still no Jaxon. I headed up to his room to check for him while the others checked the other rooms.  Nothing.  I was getting nervous at this point.

We checked and re-checked every freaking room in my house.  I even went outside to check for little kid prints in the snow thinking maybe he walked outside, got lost and was out wandering lost in the snow slowly freezing to death.

I was about 6 seconds away from calling 911 when I heard a laugh come the guest bathroom just off the kitchen.  It was Jess...she found Jaxon sitting behind the door EATING.FUCKING.LOTION.

I went in that damn bathroom at least 3 times and called that child's name...he never said a fucking word. He had been sitting there, behind the door peeking out at us and eating lotion for a good 25 minutes. 

Not a one time occourance either...We've found hm back there eating lotion multiple times. He's a lotion Junkie (and a jerk).

"Hi I'm Jaxon and I'm addicted to Jergens...."

 

Ball Sweat

My 3 year old apparently suffers from sweaty balls.  Only my kids....I swear.

Last night as we were getting ready to sit down for dinner I noticed that the boys pants were wet in the crotch area.  (He's pretty much potty trained, but still has accidents ...clearly)

Our conversation follows:

Me: "Jaxon did you pee your pants again dude?"
Jaxon: "No" <Looking at me like I'm the dumbest person on earth>  "That's from sweat"
Me: "Sweat?  Your telling me your butt sweats?"
Jaxon: "No mooooom...... from my balls" <Clearly irritated that I even thought his butt was sweating>
Me: "So what you're telling me is that you have sweaty balls" <giggling uncontrollably>
Jaxon: "Yup"
Me: "Your balls sweat so much that it makes your pants wet...."
Jaxon: "Yep"
Me:  "Dude, no way.  Not possible.  You peed your pants"
Jaxon: <Looking injured by my words> "NO MOM!  It's my balls that sweated!!!"
Me: "Whatever, go take your sweaty ball pants off before dinner then..."

I just let him go with it.  I couldn't keep a straight face to even argue with him.

Seriously, how does my 3 year old even know about ball sweat?  I think I might have failed at this one...

Thanks For Not Sucking as Friends

I've been seeing a ton of blogs out with titles like:
"The 7 Friends Every Woman Needs" and "How to Have a Successful Friendship When You Have 900 Kids and Not enough time to Pee Alone"

Most of the time I read theses and say to myself... "what the actual fuck??.  Who needs an underwear shopping friend" or "poor sad women out there!  Do they really need a checklist to find a friend?" and "What if you already have friends 1-6, do you have to turn down all the other #3's ...and only accept a #7?"

Then I wonder what types all of my nutso friends would be...

If you're wondering my friends would go something like this: 

1. Imaginary friend who I randomly meet for dinner on Tuesday nights when she's not working but only see once every 2 months, never calls back but gets my twisted sense of humor and is is the most real person I know
2. Ex-wife of the current husband who is a-fucking-mazing, likes to drink and bullshit and has no babies of her own so she can always come to me *bonus we really freak people out when we show up together* 
3. They pissy friend who's always grumpy, unimpressed and actually only likes me and 3 other people max,  but is the BEST person to just relax with and not even have to talk (she just knows...); or bitch about other people with... she's good at that too and she doesn't judge me for how many people I profess to hate.   
4.  My dear sweet turned her life around friend who reminds me every day that I can be anything and anyone I want, the girl that shows me everyday day what  living with grace looks like.  One of the few people that have seen me seen me crumble and cry and know "my whole story....even the ugly" and still loves me. 
5. My "Rough Around The Edges - Just like me" friend who loves me just the way I am.  She has shown me what strength looks like, grabbed my boobs more times than I can count and is the definition of loyalty.  She's the only other female I get to "talk shop" with and I think we might have been separated at birth. 
6. My little Sagittarius sisters - children and miles separate us, but I've never met two more unique women who are such a reflection of myself.  There are so many ways and stories I could to describe each of you but none of them are really appropriate for anyone else to read....

Back to the point.
I always read these "women/friends/how-to" blogs and I don't even come close to relating.  That's until last week.  I read a blog post called "The No-Bullshit, No-Drama Friendship Manifesto".  And it's like I sat down and described my female friends and our friendships.

It was then that I realized how lucky I am in that department.
Someone had to write a fucking contract to describe the good shit I already have.

I have such a kick ass group of bitches (because Ladies just doesn't describe any of you...sorry) you guys totally make up for my asshole kids...even better some of you have bigger asshole kids. 

To the women in my life:
"Whether I have shown up at your house covered in baby goo, on the verge of tears and needing advice or shown up looking to get drunk and blow off steam and talk major shit about what ever bomb exploded in my life you've welcomed me into your homes and dropped whatever you were doing to be my friend at that moment. Thank you for giving me your advice, your ear, a shoulder to lean on, a safe place to share my fears or a six-pack and smoke.  

I promise to always do the same for you. Wether you need a beer, an ear or bail money.  Call me any time of day or night I promise I'll be there.

To the rest of you...if you have to walk on eggshells around any of your friends or pretend to be something your not RUN.  Run really fucking fast to the neares person who's seen you ugly-cry or puke on yourself and go find more like them. 

This makes me happy....

Tired of Hearing Myself Bitch

I'm sitting here at my desk eating my broccoli cheese soup (yes it's 9AM, no I don't care), browsing through Facebook &mentally commenting on all of my "friends" Facebook posts.

Because what else is there to do on a snowy Tuesday....well besides work, prepping for my weekly meeting and about 15 other things that can apparently wait until I finish this post.

Anyway, as I'm mentally commenting (not nice things) I realize it's always directed at the same person.  Every one of their posts is negative: "my life sucks, this person sucks, work sucks, the weather sucks, people are stupid, etc..."

I want to call them and scream
"Christ...go jump off a cliff and end it already if it's that bad!!!"
(Before you freak out let me assure you - this person is not depressed and I wouldn't actually say that out loud.  They just like to bitch)

That also got me thinking...isn't that exactly what I do here?  Bitch, bitch, bitch.  Bitch about my kids grades, bitch about the way they wake up, bitch about the way they travel.

While it's all true and it makes me feel better to vent, I don't want to be that person...not every day at least.  I'm glad I can find some comradery in the misery and hopefully make people laugh, but I think I owe it to my kids and everyone else to not constantly be the person that just needs to suck it up quit fucking whining.

So here's the good shit...
For starters I have a totally overachieving uterus.  I had 3 kids without any trying.  I've watched so many people in my life struggle for just one and here I am just shitting them out like pez. When I think about it like that it makes me want to retract all the other blog posts.  I should be at home making foot molds of the kids and talking about how they fart rainbows and glitter.  That would get old too though...

Even better than my overachieving uterus is my  husband... He doesn't have a nobel peace prize or an NFL contract or anything that cool, but he's pretty damn amazing.  If anyone knows me personally saying that I'm easy to handle or mild mannered isn't an understatement it's an outright fucking lie.  He handles me and the 3 kids with an astounding amount of patience and love.  Look, I know I'm not always easy to love but he manages to fake it even in the worst of times.  He's funny and smart, and knows when I need to be left alone and knows when I just need him there next to me.

I'm really not sure how I stumbled on him or why he agreed to marry me but no take-back's fucker!!!!  (Yeah, he laughs at comments like that) 
We make an amazing team, and I'm finally old enough to see the beauty in a team over the need to be independent.

 

On to the chirren... cause even though they are the reason for my constant bitching they deserve some recognition.
















Big Red

She is soft spoken and tender hearted and is well on her way to becoming amazing woman.  She's all the things that a little girl should be.
She's beautiful inside and out and doesn't even know the depth of it yet.  (God help us all when she realizes that one)
I worried about her when we had the terrorists.  She's 8 years older and I really was concerned that she might not bond with them.  I was so wrong.  (She likes them more than I do some days.)  She definitely has more patience with them than I ever do.  She's also my little gymnast...I think we've finally found a sport that suits her and she's amazing at it.  She's a tween so it's about 60/40 right now in favor of the devil tween, but that 40 is a pretty amazing young lady.

Boy Terrorist 

I don't think he has the capability to follow a single instruction to the end, but I know that when my time comes he'll be the one that will go to the ends of the earth to just be there with me.  (I know that it's totally cliche, but there really is something about a relationship of a mother and son)  He loves me best and I love every minute of it.  He's also fucking hysterical.  He says the most off the wall shit and keeps us in stitches.  He is our comedic relief when things get serious.  He's also a fierce protector of his sisters.  We literally have to send him to another room if we are dealing with the girls.  I don't know that they notice now, but one day when we're not there to protect them he'll be the anchor of our family.

Tiny Terrorist
She clearly thinks here father is the only person on earth and I just show up to make dinner and feed everyone. 

But she's damn cute so it's forgiven.  I have no idea what she's saying most of the time.  (Thank god Jaxon translates for me) She's got a temper to rival mine and it's hysterical...I know one day it won't be but for now she's our baby and we all just let it go.  She eats like she's in a contest  - there's nothing the kid won't put in her mouth.  (Except peaches...none of the kids like peaches.  It's just weird)  She's also pretty funny.   While boy terrorist actually says comical things tiny terrorist is just funny to watch.  Whether it's doing the eyebrow thing or shaking her butt she's just enormously cute.

Well there you have it...I don't hate my kids or my life.  I love them all immeasurably and am thankful for all I have.

Now back to bitching about my kids.... ;)

6th Grade ~ Round 2

I've already written a few posts about Big Red and her stellar grades and school work ethic so this one might not come as a surprise...

I've decided to back off and let Big Red fail 6th grade.  (She'll have repercussions of course.)
It's not that I don't care, I'm just not dragging her through the school year anymore.

I've written emails to teachers.  I've tracked down countless missed assignments and arranged for her to have extra time to turn them in.  Once I get her caught up she shits it all up again.  Maybe she's not developmentally ready for 6th grade.  Maybe she doesn't care.  Maybe it's the fact that there's never been a major consequence.  I honestly don't know what it is but I do know that everyone in Big's life has gone over and above for her and she doesn't try to help herself one bit.  She doesn't seem to be bothered by F's or being grounded for 3 months.  So I'm going to let her fail.

What amazed me about all of this has been the teachers responses.
When I brought this up to Big's teachers they offered to give her extra credit and extra time.  One teacher actually just excused all of the missing grades!!! 

I was disappointed, but I wasn't shocked.  I've spent 6 years pleading with teachers to hold my child accountable and do what it takes to make her learn and grow as a person.  I don't care if she has to miss recess or has to do extra homework or is embarrassed; so long as she's learning and not just being pushed along to the next babysitter.

The last teacher I met with told me that Big has the ability to do well but has no motivation and they're not sure how to motivate her.  My response was "wanna motivate her? - embarrass her.  Make it known when she doesn't have homework, call attention to her when she's goofing off."

The teacher looked at me as if she was waiting for the punch line.  I have to say it's not the teachers fault here.  Us as parents have thoroughly fucked the education system and our kids in the process.  We've pushed teachers into a corner and don't allow them do do their job.  We're more worried about them upsetting our children than we are about them teaching our children.

I've seen it happen in my in my own circle of friends.  Parent's bashing their kid's teachers in front of the kids.  Parents "not standing" for the way their kid is treated in school.  
Little Timmy comes in last place in  field day and doesn't get a ribbon and mom's on the phone raising hell because Timmy doesn't feel appreciated.  Susie gets yelled at in class for not listening and mom is on the phone demanding action against the teacher.

You know what, maybe your kid is an asshole and needs to learn some respect. I know 9 times out of 10 when my kid is in trouble it's because they're being assholes and not because they have teachers hell bent on torturing my them.

I know there are some shitty teachers out there, but our kids need to learn to deal with those too.  Life isn't fair, not all bosses are fair either.  Life is sometimes shitty and if our kids don't learn to cope with that early on we've essentially fucked them too...

Anyway, back to my story.  I've decided to let it go and see where it gets us.  Maybe she'll pull her head out of her ass, but I'm not placing any bets on that happening.  What I am expecting is a major fight at the end of the year though.  I'll place money on it that I actually have a fight on my hands when I try to ensure she's back in 6th grade again.

Am I being mean and heartless here?  Did I miss the parenting memo?  I don't know any other way to get the message across.  I hope I'm doing the right thing, but I really feel like a shitty mom.

(I should note that she gets scored in the 90-95 percentile on all of her test scores.  She's not delayed in that sense.  She actually gets A's and B's on classwork and tests, she just refuses to bring her homework home or actually do it when she does bring it home)

On a positive note...she's a kick ass babysitter.  Maybe she can work in a daycare when she's older.

16 Ways to Ruin your Toddlers Morning

My husband decided to read my blog (finally) hence the update:  
Soooooo....so now I have to give credit where it rightfully belongs.  
He handles the Boy terrorist in the morning and does most of the AM routine with him.  I get up with the Tiny terrorist and do most of the shit that she requires.  So in actuality list items #1-7 happened to him (I just eavesdropped on those) and I only directly received #'s 7-16.
 
I write this shit on my lunch break and I didn't have time for all the intricacies, but he noticed so to my darling husband...here you go, here's your credit.  (And I love you)

This was NOT taken at 6AM

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before but the terrorists are in their first "real" daycare ever.  Up until this point they've either gone to a family friend for daycare or had an in home nanny.

Holy shit it's a lot more work this way!  You've Derek's got to get them him up, dress them him and get food in them all before 6AM.

(That's like trying to teach drunk college students advanced chemistry.  Or at least what I would imagine it's equivalent to.) 

 I know, I know.. you really want to hear my Derek's sob story about how hard it is to not have a nanny and have to dress my kids.  (I'll say it for you....Oh fuck off Ashley!)

You're in luck.....that's not the point of this one.
In fact I really like the new daycare.  I enjoy my kids NOT trashing my house all day or eating all of the food.   

Back to the point.  We have a routine, but some days the natives go fucking insane and I'm reminded why some species eat their young.  This morning was one of those days for the boy terrorist.  I we managed to find no less than 16 ways to ruin his morning all before 6 AM (prob more but these are the ones I remember).

And here they are:

1. Make BT take off his onesie jammies
2. Make BT go potty before putting on his pants
3. Make him hold his penis while he pees
4. Call it a pee pee not a penis
5. Make him brush his teeth with toothpaste
6. Not let BT wear his jammies to daycare (Cameron does....)
7. Give BT Milk to drink instead of orange juice
8. Dump out OJ and replace with milk 
9. Give him white milk not chocolate milk
10. Put too much chocolate in the chocolate milk
11. Do not allow BT to bring pillow with him (Cameron does....)
12. Utter the phrase "I don't know Cameron and really I don't care what he does.You are not taking your pillow to school"
13. Put Shrek on instead of Scooby Do in the car (1st world problems right)
14. Have the radio set to a decibel level not pleasing to the little terrorists ears
15. Have the screen set to a 89° angle not a perfect 90° angle for optimal viewing
16. ....And I didn't 2nd squeeze him like I really meant it. 

That's really what he told me when I hugged him for the 2nd time "You didn't squeeze me like you meant it"  Little did he know that had I squeezed him like I meant it his poor little terrorist head would have popped right off.  (I did drop him off so this one is all mine)

See the type of shit I have to deal with from this one.... <3

(Not really, that was the highlight of my day...he made me laugh and reminded me that he needs and loves me....awe)

New Beds For the Terrorists

And No sleep for the infidels
Because I'm pretty sure that's what they call us when they're plotting their attacks.

Like I was saying; we got new beds for the terrorists.
Well, Jaxon got a new bed - Lannie got a modified version of her old bed.

According to Luke this post should be titled "Lannie Got Screwed"

Back to the beds:
Jaxon got this amazing Fire House loft bed.

It took us about 2 hours to build and most of the sanity I had left in my weekend reserves.  He loves playing in it, but bed time is another story.  It's as if we've sentenced him to 12 years hard labor at Angola the way he carries on.
Aside from that it's just a really big pain in the ass.  The bed itself is at a height of about 4'-6 and surrounded by firehouse walls.  Meaning I can't get to him without having to climb up the toddler ladder into the fire house loft.  (He knows this, so where do you think he goes when he's in trouble now?)

Thankfully, Derek usually gets the boy terrorist ready in the mornings, but he has the same dilemma.  No way to get to the sleeping terrorist without climbing up in the loft with him.  Which is what every parent wants to do at 6AM when it's time to get ready for work. (Boy terrorist doesn't respond to commands on a good day, so he most certainly won't get up and out of bed on his own accord)

I haven't actually witnessed the Hubby's technique, but I'm going to try to catch it tomorrow- I'm certain it's comical.


Then there's poor deprived Lannie.  She got the modified bed.
I guess in comparison she did kind of get screwed.  (And after knowing what we do now I can guarantee that she won't be getting any sort of loft bed - at all - ever...)

Here's her "new" toddler daybed.

Clearly, she also feels like she got screwed in this deal and is punishing us for our favoritism of her brother.
We haven't slept a full night since the "new bed incident"
My sweet little Lannie who used to actually ask to go to bed has turned into a demon child reminiscent of a meth addict on the tail end of a 2 week bender.  She screams at bed time, refuses to lay down and worst of all she can now get out of her own bed to grace us with her presence at 2AM (and 3AM and 3:30AM and 4:15AM)


Try to do something nice...and this is the what we get in return.

Hey Stay at Home Mom...Eff You!!!

Yeah - I said it...EFF YOU....you with all your staying home super mommy-ness.
...And I mean that as a compliment.  I'm also jealous.

I could probably swing being a stay at home mom financially, but I couldn't actually hack the day-to-day business of being a full time stay at home mom.  I wish I could say "I HAVE to work for financial reasons, but If I had my choice I'd be at home with my precious little spawn enjoying play-doh and finger painting."  That would be a damn lie.

As much as I love my kids I would go completely insane after the first 3 days (if I actually made it that long).  I don't like messes, I DESPISE play-doh and I suck at make-believe.  (Refer to my previous post...I'm not really sure why have all of these kids)

Every day I feel like I'm failing them in a million different ways.  When I wake them up at 6AM and send them to daycare with a cup of milk and a kiss I think about all of you that get up and watch cartoons and make Mickey Mouse pancakes and I envy the fact that you enjoy doing that.

When my kids come home with their finger-paint masterpieces I know that someone else was there to watch them create it and tell them what a good job they did.

I get on Facebook and see all of my stay at home friends posting pictures of Zoo trips, play dates and arts and crafts.  I notice the mess in the background and I see the kid covered head to toe in blue finger-paint.  I can tell that not one person in that picture cares about either.

In that moment I know I'm not cut out to be a stay at home mom. I would be faking the smile and having a coronary about the mess and the blue kid and already thinking about getting everyone cleaned and down for a nap.  I know this about myself and it makes me hate you and your happy mess just a little bit. (I mean that in the nicest way possible BTW)

I've found other ways to compensate:
With the extra finances we get to do fun things that we might not otherwise be able to afford.  The kids get to load up on sports, classes and activities that cost a fortune.  I dedicate my weekends to them to to make up for the 40 hours of absence.

They're a well rounded bunch and I don't think they feel un-loved or neglected, but I know.  I know the trade off that I choose willingly for my own sanity.

On good days I feel like it's ok -  I'm raising my kids (especially my girls) to be strong and independent.  They'll know that they can have a family and a career.
On shitty days (when you all plaster my feed with homemade cookies and noodle craft paintings) I know I'm missing the most important years of my kids life - 8 hours at a time and I want to stomp on all of your damn noodle paintings.

I wish I could be more like you stay at home moms- I wish I could enjoy it all or at least most of it.  But I cant...so in true Ashley fashion "Eff You stay at home moms!!!"  ;)


Can I ask one favor.....help a sister out.  Snap a picture of a tantrum or poop on the floor.  Something to remind me that your world isn't all roses either.

I found the 7th Circle of Hell this weekend

...and it was located in  a Ford F-350 Super Duty

This is the space 5 of us shared for 3 hours

This weekend we made a trip up to Grand Lake, Colorado for my Dad's wedding.  (Which was amazing, and beautiful and made me wish we had brought kennels for the kids - I'll get to that later.  First, I need to start with my own personal version of hell.

For me, that's driving over any mountain pass (or bridge or hill really)  that has a steep drop and no wall to prevent me from driving off the cliff, rolling my vehicle 5000 times and being burnt alive in the gas fueled wreckage.

Seriously, that's where my head goes when we drive in the mountains.  (Here's a funny little side note...I live in Colorado.  Land of the fucking mountains.  Genius choice of residency right?)

Anyway, not only did we drive over a mountain pass we drove over Trail Ridge road.  It is my own personal hell like I said before.
 

Notice the shoulder on the road...

Here's an excerpt from the website:

"Whether they begin their journey at Estes Park or Grand Lake, Trail Ridge Road travelers climb some 4,000 feet in a matter of minutes. The changes that occur en route are fascinating to observe. A drive that may begin in montane forests of aspen and ponderosa pine soon enters thick subalpine forests of fir and spruce. At treeline, the last stunted, wind-battered trees yield to the alpine tundra.   

Up on that windswept alpine world, conditions resemble those found in the Canadian or Alaskan Arctic. It's normally windy and 20 to 30 degrees colder than Estes Park or Grand Lake. The sun beats down with high- ultraviolet intensity. The vistas, best enjoyed from one of several marked road pullovers, are extravagant, sweeping north to Wyoming, east across the Front Range cities and Great Plains, south and west into the heart of the Rockies."

In layman's terms that means you drive straight fucking up, encounter about 62 thousand switchbacks and 900 foot drop offs.  If you drive off of this bitch it isn't a leisurely roll to your death...you're gonna be rolling mach10 as you careen towards your fiery death.  (Oh yeah - there are NO shoulders on these roads either)

I drink while we're driving up the mountain.  By the time we hit treeline I'm "relaxed" enough to not cry or scream anytime my husband hits the breaks.  (I should probably look into a Xanax script for these excursions, but I'm too embarrassed to tell my doctor I'm a huge fucking baby who can't ride in the mountains)

I should also note that my husband has lived in Colorado for his ENTIRE life and has driven these mountains since he was 16 and is an excellent driver.  My fear is totally illogical but it's there none the less.

Now that you have an insight into my mood at the onset of our trip let me continue...


In our infinite wisdom we decided to take the truck on this 3 hour journey, not the Escalade that is the size of a bus and has a DVD player.  (I don't even have an explanation for that thought process)

Having a two and three year old in a vehicle for more than 15 minutes is bad enough, but having them in a vehicle, within reach of each other, for three hours and less than 6 inches away from the back of your own head  is enough to drive Santa Claus out of his damn mind...

The first 15 minutes were ok, then we got snacks....
While that seemed like a good idea, inevitably someone (the boy terrorist) dropped their snacks 28 fucking times.  Meaning I had to unbuckle, contort myself over the seat and under the car-seat to retrieve lost snack 28 fucking times.  I drew the line at time 29.

Of course there is always one slow eater (Tiny terrorist).
Boy terrorist looks over and is immediately convinced that tiny terrorist must have gotten a larger bag with more snacks.  Boy terrorist proceeds to cry and try to steal tiny terrorists bag of snacks causing tiny terrorists to have a full blown melt down.  (Have I mentioned this is all happening about 4 inches behind my head?)

We convince tiny terrorist to share (we actually distract her and steal the snacks).  Give more to boy terrorist and settle in for our trip.

We have a good 30 minutes of ride time and are just entering the park (Rocky Mountain National Park) when boy terrorists needs to pee. I take boy terrorist out to pee and in true terrorist style he decides to get creative while he pees along side of the road.  As he's bouncing and gyrating he's also peeing on his pants and shoes.  (Remember, I'm "relaxed" so I find this hysterical - until later when I have to clean the shoes and pants)

Back in the truck and it's calm and quiet for the next hour...I should have known it was too good to be true then and there...

Just as we're getting off the pass (and my sphincter is relaxing) big brings to our attention that tiny terrorist is puking...all over herself....and the car seat.  Awesome.
Pull over again.  Commence clean-up.
Have you ever tried to clean up vomit with a baby wipe?  Pour a can of chicken noodle soup on the floor and try to clean it with a sock...It's about like that.

Thank god we were only 20 minutes or so from the condo.
We made it there and settled in with minimal pain.  The kids actually settled in and played with each other and were very cute and Norman Rockwell-ish.  In fact, we were reminded why we haven't sold them on the black market like we keep threatening to do.

I want to keep them when they act like this

The wedding was Sunday afternoon and semi-painless.  The kids were fairly well behaved and only tried to climb into the river a few times.  Boy terrorist insisted on making atrocious faces in 90% of the pictures.  Everyone seemed to think it was hilarious and I was preparing for the drive down (drinking) so we just let him be.

This was the face of the day....

The drive down was about the same minus the vomit, but at least we were prepared for it.


I'm still not sure how we didn't realize that a 3 hour drive in an extended cab truck was a shitty idea, but I'm positive that if my husband ever suggests it again I'm going to  poke him in the eye with a stick.

Oh - congrats to my Dad and his beautiful new bride Susan!

Thank you for putting up with the us on your special day!!!

Top gun...only shorter

This year on October 31st The Terrorists will take a break from their everyday jihad to be Goose and Maverick from Top Gun.  (I saw it on pinterest and had to do it...)

Mom just sent pictures of the "flight suits" that she made and the toddler aviators just came in the mail.  I can't wait to dress them up!

Scratch That...I am Completely Off My Rocker Crazy

So I lied - my last post I said I wasn't crazy..I was just a mom.
Apparently I lied, I'm absolutely, totally fucking insane (and it's all my kids' fault).  I'm talking about bent over sobbing into my knees in the garage praying for a cigarette to fall out of the sky kind of insane.

I remember years ago after I did something stupid my mom looking at me and telling me " I love you, but I really don't like you right now."  At that time I had no idea what she meant...how do you love someone but not like them.  That just didn't make sense.  I chalked it up to her being angry and saying crazy mom shit.

Not only did I utter those same words last night I now know EXACTLY what she meant.

See, I've got a 12 year old daughter who is intelligent, sweet, well spoken, beautiful, loving and hell bent on driving me FUCKING BAT SHIT CRAZY!  She's like an evil mastermind of making me loose my shit.  It's as if she's got a diabolical plan to actually find that limit that sends me to the crazy house.

See she doesn't look evil....

And it's all over homework folks.... I had dreams of her going to college and being something successful.  Now I just hope robots haven't taken over McDonald's positions in the next 16 years and she can find a job there.

To put this in perspective let me give you a run down of last night (and essentially every school night for the last 6 years) Kaitlynn gets home at 3:30 sits on couch with her thumb up her own ass not doing homework like we've asked her to do 3 trillion times.  Mom gets home at 5:30 and asks Kait to do homework.  Kait says she doesn't have much homework and asks if she can do it after dinner.  Mom agrees knowing in the back of her mind this is probably a really bad decision but hey she wouldn't just outright lie....WRONG.

At 6:40 Kait begins her homework.  She informs me that she has finished Math, and Reading and English and reports that she only has her vocab words left  to do.  Mom does a little happy dance in her head.  Maybe Kait is getting this after all.  (I should mention here that Kait has already been grounded for 3 weeks due to failing grades and "forgetting" homework)

• At 7:30 Kait begins her 12 vocabulary words.  
• At 8:00 I ask for a status.  She's still looking them up...
• at 9:00 I catch her watching TV.  I only slightly lose my shit and make her move to a different chair at the table so she can't see the TV. (Did I mention she's 12 not 2) 
• At 10:00 I again ask what in the holyfuckinghell is taking so long with the 12 vocabulary words. 

 Remember, she has an Ipad with a dictionary app to aid in this.  She doesn't even have to flip fucking pages!!!

• At 11:00 she hands me her vocab book.  I think it's a joke.  There on the back of the book are her 12 words .  Inside contains four, FOUR fucking definitions!!! FOUR DEFINITIONS!!! It took her 3 and a half hours to write and define FOUR words using an Ipad and dictionary app.  

This is the exact moment that I lost my mind, but I manage to recover and not actually scream the obscenities that are banging around in my skull. That's until I walk by her pile of school work and notice a worksheet that isn't done.  Not any worksheet, the same worksheet that she told me she finished 3 hours ago.  When I bring this to her attention she tells me that she wasn't sure if it was homework or if she was supposed to do it...WHAT?

Clearly it's been a few years since I've been in school, but in my day teachers didn't send home worksheets that we weren't supposed to do.  That's just fucking stupid.  I calmly explain this (that's a lie - I was on the verge of hysterics) and am given the response that the teacher just gave it to them at the end of the day without saying a word, so that's why she's not sure if she's supposed to do it. 
(Now I'm screaming that we both know that's a lie and a really bad one at that.) So, I inform her that I am going to email this idiot teacher in the morning and ask why in the holy hell she would just throw a worksheet at my child with no explanation.   This is what I get next...verbatim "Well, maybe she said something, maybe I forgot or I wasn't listening, It might be homework.  I'll just do it to be safe"

Really It might?  You'll just do it in case?
I'd like to give you my response back, but I honestly can't tell you what I said.  I know there was A LOT of  screaming and probably cursing.  I think I asked her why she was trying to make me crazy.  I know I told her "I love you but I really don't like you"

Then I walked out to the garage and sobbed.  I sobbed because I lost my shit big time with my daughter.  I sobbed because I realized that I have to let her fail this time or she'll never learn.  I sobbed because I meant what I said - I love that little girl, but I really didn't like her at that moment and that felt horrible.  I sobbed because I didn't have a goddamned cigarette.  And I sobbed because I know I have another 6 fucking years to go....

I've decided to let go.  She is 12 and can manage her homework and if not she is old enough to suffer the consequences.  I will be there if she chooses to ask me for help but I will not do it for her.

I'm also going to call my mom and apologize profusely for being such a dick head kid.  I know how it feels now.

(Shit....it just dawned on me - I have 2 more kids to go...I don't have 6 years left...more like 15 years left.  Mom's gonna need some good pills and a shrink.)

I better get a kick ass nursing home out of one of these kids...


***as a side note I feel like I should add that calling the teacher an idiot above was totally sarcastic.  I have worked with Kait's teacher multiple times and know she actually wouldn't hand any of her students an assignment with no explanation. That comment was made to get the daughter to fess up to not telling the whole truth***