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***

I'm not crazy....I'm a mom

So, I was talking to a friend of a friend this weekend when she mentioned my blog and the stories about the kids.  My response to her was "thanks - god I hope everyone reading it realizes that this is my attempt at humor."

I realize that my friends and anyone who knows me will already know this fact.  For the people who just happen on this blog or for my own kids when they're printing off their baby book:  RELAX!  Chill the fuck out and just laugh with me!!

All of the stories are in fact 100% true, but the decision to take tantrums and near death experiences with a grain of salt and lots of laughter is my choice and my way of maintaining my own sanity.  Yes, I call my kids names (terrorists & assholes) but not to their face.  That would be a really UN-mommy like thing to do.  Besides they'd just call the kids at school assholes and I'd be out yet another babysitter.

Anyway, I was thinking of this when I landed on a blog post form another site.  It's about all of the dark shit that comes with being a mother  (I know some of you guys were just made to be moms and it's been pure bliss and everything you ever expected...well fuck you that's not how it happened for me) I won't paraphrase it, but here is the link - it's a really good read.  ScaryMommy Blog - New Mommy Misery.

So in addition to my humor disclaimer I felt like this might be a good time let it all hang out in terms of being a mom and what I've experienced.  After reading the link above I realized that I agree; the not so pretty shit just isn't shared...or at least not enough.  Maybe I'm a little less insane than I thought.  Maybe some of you feel/felt the same way too.

See, I wasn't going to be a mother - ever.  Like never ever.  I was just looking forward to living on my own and not having rules.  I never dreamed of white weddings and babies.  (I've had 3 of each - what can I say I'm a fucking over achiever....)

Clearly that didn't pan out.  Big was totally unplanned, Boy Terrorist was a different story - he was anticipated just not planned, Tiny terrorist was also totally unplanned and mad me cry for weeks...

I didn't have a rough time with Big really.  She was a novelty at first and I had a lot of help.  Both sets of grandparents were less that 10 minutes from me and she was the first grand-baby on both sides.  Needless to say I had a lot of free time while she went to visit the grandparents.  I was 22 when I had her so I did miss out on some "going out"  but I still got a lot of good times in. On top of that she was an amazing baby.  Never fussy, not needy.  Really she was less work than a puppy.  But I was done.  It was challenging and just fulfilling enough.  No need to have another one... I didn't need to empress anyone with my ultra capable uterus.

Eight Years later came new husband with no kids of his own.  He was upfront and honest about the desire for his own child (never once has he treated Big any different than his own but he wanted to experience a baby.  Also, Big was 8 and has her own daddy.)  With that in mind we decided to "let nature take it's course"  I was prepared for a good 2-3 year practice time.  About 42 seconds after we made this decision I became pregnant.

He wasn't super happy to see me....

I was excited and happy and scared as hell.   I had an 8 year old.  She made her own breakfasts and didn't crap her pants. I was going back for another 3 years of cleaning someone else's ass and being up all freaking night at the whim of a tiny dictator.  I had a career this time, a job that I needed to be present for and a paycheck that we as a family depended on.  AND I WAS 30!!!  30 year olds can't stay up all night like 21 year olds. To top this off Hubby was working out of town after Boy terrorist was born.  He'd be gone  Mon-Thursday of every week and I went back to work when BT was 6 weeks old.

I worked all day, came home and cared for Big and boy Terrorist all night and did it again the next day.  In the back of my mind I wanted to scream and throw things.  This wasn't how I expected it to be.  I thought we'd be happy and all share in the baby stuff and ALL be home to share in the responsibilities.  A million times I actually thought to myself  "I didn't want another baby! Why am I stuck raising it while the husband gets to sleep in peace and quiet in a hotel room all week.  HE wanted this!  NOT me!"
I wanted to be the one away in a hotel.  Not the one cleaning up vomit and wiping runny noses.

To make things even more confusing when I looked at my new little one he melted my heart I knew that I loved him unconditionally. When I dropped him off at daycare I'd want to turn around and go back and get him.  I missed him that much.  Given the choice I wouldn't actually leave him and go stay in a hotel.  I would have quit my job if that were the price. 

But who do you tell that kind of shit to?  No one, for fear of looking like a whack job or even worse someone dismissing it as hormones.

Boy Terrorist & Tiny Terrorist

Along came baby 3 - Tiny terrorist was all that and then some.  I knew that we were done after boy terrorist.  Absolutely no need for a 3 - it didn't even occur to me.  Well, until that one night/morning.  Had a bit to drink...didn't check the "calendar".  I have a #3 so I'm sure we can all surmise what went down.

Take all of the feelings I had with #2 multiply that by 2, throw in the fact that daddy was still working out of town, add in that I now look like Rosie-fucking-O'Donnell from the neck down and don't forget the fact that these two are 15 months apart.

 I really, honestly thought I was going to lose my shit.  I fantasized about up and moving to the Bahamas  (alone).  I wanted to scream at my husband for doing this to me.  I wanted to scream at the babies for just being there.  I just wanted my own space and 5 minutes to myself.  Some days I just wanted my old life back.  Some days when both of the babies were happy and napping I figured - fuck it we might as well go for 4 or 5.  Just kidding - I wasn't that bat shit crazy.

So, I cried in the bathtub at night about what a fucked predicament  I was in and I pulled it together during the days and evenings for work and the kids.  (On the days that I wanted to sell 'em I faked it and played with them anyway.)

We're 3 years into this whole baby shit and a lot has changed while some things are exactly the same.  Daddy is now home and gets to share in the misery.  The babies have necks and attitudes and aren't always as cute and loveable as the were back then.  They are forming their own personalities and opinions now and while not always cute it is absolutely amazing to watch them grow together.  I rarely cry in the tub about my "situation" anymore.  I just don't have that luxury...if you have kids you know you're NEVER alone in the bathroom ever again anyway.  I do still think about running away.  I do still wonder what it would have been like had I not had kids and got to chase those dreams.  But I  also realize all of the things that I would have never experienced.

I have a husband that would go to the ends of the earth to make me happy and feel loved. Who loves all 3 of the mini's with a ferocity that  makes me fall in love with him all over again.  A partner to commiserate with when it's rough.  I have a Big that is turning into  remarkable young lady who actually enjoys helping with the terrorists.  I have 2 tiny dictators who are maddening but keep us all laughing and grounded.

I'm lucky beyond words but I still dream of that 20 year old girl that I was.  I wonder what it would have been like... 

And it doesn't make me crazy or unappreciative  - It makes me human.
It makes me a mom.


(by the way...daddy is fixed.  I put a stop to that shit)

My kids are assholes...but at least they're smart

I'm specifically referring to the terrorists here, but if I really think about this Big (and even Really Big) have their moments on this list as well.

Anyway, back to why my kids are smart assholes:
See, Last night I made dinner and and it was a good dinner.  A dinner full of things they eat on a regular basis.  We had bbq'd german sausage, mac and cheese with broccoli (ok, so they don't actually eat anything with broccoli in it- that was more for me) and green beans and potatoes seasoned with bacon and garlic.  It's not like I made liver or lima beans or anything even remotly nasty...but that's exactally what the the older terrorist called my dinner.

I've got to mention here that for the entire 1/2 hour of dinner prep and time I was accosted with requests for popsicles, ice cream, ramen, chocolate, fruit snacks...basically anything sweet and void of nutrition.  All of which I denied. This of course resulted in sobs and cries of protest.

So, back to dinner last night...I set the big terrorist's plate on the table and he promptly informed me that his noodles had trees in them and dinner was nasty.  Yeah, he freaking called my dinner nasty.  Now, up until this point the tiniest terrorist was eating perfectly fine.  That is until she until she spotted her jihad leader actively protesting his dinner.  Well, she immediately joined in the protest and refused to eat another bite.

Now, as much as I hate to admit it I'm not opposed to bribing my kids (especially if it will make things easier and make mommy/daddy time come faster).  So I offered a frozen treat of their choosing if they would just try a few bites of sausage and green beans....

Those little bastards didn't even hesitate!!  They promptly finished off the green beans AND the sausage.  The tiny terrorist even asked for seconds!!!

That's when I realized a couple of toddler terrorists had outsmarted me.  They never had a problem with dinner...they just held out for the promise of desert.  It's not like I wouldn't have given them desert anyway...and they knew that.  They have popsicles and ice cream at least 3 nights a week.

They're just assholes.....but at least they're smart.

Here's picture of the terrorists not protesting dinner.  (Only because I let them have a "picnic" in the living room and watch some cartoon with talking fish)

You’re 3 missing assignments away from being a homeless crackhead!

Oh yeah…I said that.  
To a 6th grader.  
To MY sixth grade daughter.

I am mom of the freaking year over here. 
I totally lost my shit last night….  In my defense we were on night TWO of “catch up on the shit you didn't do while you were at your dad’s house because you knew he wouldn't check”.

Just to clarify; I’m not talking about 2 or 3 assignments.  I’m talking about a list of 9-12 different assignments!  Add to this that the child has a school provided I pad with daily calendars of what’s due and when.  SHE DOESN'T  EVEN HAVE TO WRITE HER OWN ASSIGNMENTS DOWN!  And she can’t remember what she needs to do.

This is how it all went down:  I take over the i pad and am going through the calendars and writing a list of what the child has outstanding, what she turned in and what she has no clue about.  At this point I have 2 items on the done list, 3 or so on the incomplete list and I’m somewhere around 5 items on the “I have no fucking clue list”  I admit I was already a little short tempered by the whole situation, but when we hit number five and she couldn't even tell me if she’d seen the paper before I completely lost it and went bat shit crazy.  I asked her if she actually went to school or if she even cared about school and being successful at all.  I then proceeded to tell her that if she kept up this attitude she would find herself working on a career as a homeless crackhead and she was about 3 assignments away from being just that.

She looked at me horrified. I’m still not sure if she actually believed what I was saying or if she could tell I was about to topple right over the edge of that crazy cliff.  

If I wouldn't have been so irate I would have laughed at the absurdity of what I had just said.  I did in fact realize how crazy I was beginning to sound so I called in  reinforcements (Derek), grabbed a beer and took it with me for a nice long bath (where I proceeded to drop my brand new phone in the water).

The only silver lining to this cloud…while I had to stay up till midnight helping Big with her homework I was able to Google and fix my water damaged sim contactor.  (It took a really tiny screwdriver, you tube, a q tip and lots of 4 letter words…but that’s a story for another day)


And here I am at work blogging instead of doing my “assignments”.  I better get back to it…we don’t need 2 homeless crackheads in the house….

We’re One IROC Short of Our Own White Trash Reality how

So I figure in my first post I’ll introduce you to the characters. (Mainly so you can comprehend how insane we all are, but also so I can send this out to all included and get their permission to upload pics and use their name when telling embarrassing stories about them)

Here’s the rundown of the family:

There’s me; Ashley.  I’m a full time working mom.  I work in construction and have an affinity towards 4 letter words.  I really fucking like them.  (see what I did there?  That was a warning.  If you’re offended now you should just move on to another blog because that was child’s play)  I’m an avid smoker who quit 16 hours ago – this lead to the blogging.  I’ve got to do something instead of smoking.  Might as well share the  insanity, right?

Next up is Dad.  Dad is also in construction and has worked out of town for the majority of the babies’ lives.  Dad just took a position at the office and no longer travels for work…we’re all waiting for him to flip his shit now that he’s home full time.  I have to admit that he’s doing really well which is disappointing.  See, he’s the one who wanted all these kids and I told him he only wanted them because he didn’t have to live with them.  If he doesn’t freak out soon it’ll mean I was wrong and he’s just better at kids than I am.  (Which cannot happen because I am never wrong and I grew those suckers.  I have to be better at them by default.)

On to the kids…

Our oldest is 21.  I didn’t actually grow him.  I got him through marriage, but 80% of the time he’s my favorite. We call him “the really-big”.  His escapades are….um…interesting but he can buy liquor on his way to the house so we let him slide sometimes.

The big is 11 and she’s a Tween (god help us all).    She expects to be treated like and adult but can’t remember to brush her own teeth…this is a daily battle.

The "Big"

Lastly we have the babies.  

"the Terrorists"

The babies aren't twins but in an effort to streamline things we treat them as such.  There’s a 3 year old boy and a 2 year old girl…we call them the terrorists.  We have not had a moments peace and quiet in the house in 3 years solely due to their existence.  We also have laughed more in the past 3 years than ever before.  (Everyone bitches about the terrorists, but in reality they are completely loved and spoiled beyond belief.)

And you can’t have a WT reality show without Ex’s!!!

Here’s what really makes people raise their eyebrows…We’re friends with both of our exes and actually hang out with each other quite often (for actual fun, not shared-kid related things)

There’s really-big’s mom.  We’ll call her Momgie.  While we were sworn enemies for quite some time the tides have turned and she’s actually a fucking riot.  Apparently the hubby has both good taste and a type, because it’s kind of like hanging out with a taller me.  We drink wine, say inappropriate things about strangers and our kids… really what more could I ask for.

Lastly, there’s the big’s dad.  We also get along well.  Some days he’s kind of like my 5th kid but it’s all forgiven because he keeps Popsicles in his freezer for the terrorists.  The terrorists ADORE him.  I’m just waiting for both of them to be fully potty trained (the terrorist not big’s dad).  Once they finally are he’s getting all 3 on his weekly visits, not just the tween.  Mommy will take a vacation when and where she can get it.

See, add an Iroc and a few mullets and we’d have our own show….maybe I should contact TLC…..

When Mommy Dies Print Your Baby Book Here

I've been thinking about trying this whole blog thing for quite a while now and figured I’d give it a shot.

I don’t have any thing super special to say, but a recent conversation with my mother got me thinking. I called to ask her when one of the kids got a tooth  and she told me to check their baby book.

Um…well sorry kids, mommy didn't make any of you a baby book.  She worked a ton and you guys got into shit…A LOT of shit.  I didn't have time to sit down and jot down all of the things you were doing.  I was too busy stopping you from killing yourselves or each other…or from drinking out of the cat water (Jaxon -  that’s you)

Anyway, this is where the blog idea came from.  I figure I’ll just jot down the funny and embarrassing things for everyone to see and when the time comes they can each print off a copy of the website.  Viola baby book!