tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72975870055977327192024-02-19T11:14:38.396-07:00I Duct-Taped The baby......and other happenings around the crazy houseAshleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-18573070784165587412023-04-13T16:01:00.001-06:002023-04-13T16:01:14.444-06:00More Than Medals<p> <br />This kid has had a really rough few
weeks.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgskVuCtZul9U-m6KWEuntlwW_9j-1IcMa4V5yH3sP55OIKPskxZ2nKgKx5wsUrQZxNkrh9iEz6sqpRCUwk-Ei4AoSRYahbyn8gq44HN8Dvgy6Yd_ssij9zXUqaRUmb9QibAcQ1gqvqEBFgyFIHPwXN4kcR1NsAThM83ISdb7o3C_Utckr_LtITwmTl/s1280/1Lannie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgskVuCtZul9U-m6KWEuntlwW_9j-1IcMa4V5yH3sP55OIKPskxZ2nKgKx5wsUrQZxNkrh9iEz6sqpRCUwk-Ei4AoSRYahbyn8gq44HN8Dvgy6Yd_ssij9zXUqaRUmb9QibAcQ1gqvqEBFgyFIHPwXN4kcR1NsAThM83ISdb7o3C_Utckr_LtITwmTl/w256-h320/1Lannie.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There have been tears….so many
tears. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">(Like enough tears to have other
parents ask about her after practice) <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Landry started competing in gymnastics
two years ago and she has spent most of her time on the 1<sup>st</sup>, 2<sup>nd,</sup>
and 3<sup>rd</sup> place podiums. She is a powerhouse. She is stubborn and
determined but more than that; gymnastics just comes easy for her. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcFWLfyGtX4jp3smxEP4lC2zh0P-qJtvNhJ8tdNB-cQ5YgFBvOkvy3s_zyc8O6IgbVuXU_mc11nXNwaao0cTEfQrGzkAY3h6-Un1yOoqLadFZdqMfj_K7SdLM7MTqGcZLSrzbSnLJAQyOE8-m9D-oxyJTnLeC-7rJ-F4aJkW1HKnnlYEi2KPG9Yuiw/s1432/Lannie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1432" data-original-width="509" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcFWLfyGtX4jp3smxEP4lC2zh0P-qJtvNhJ8tdNB-cQ5YgFBvOkvy3s_zyc8O6IgbVuXU_mc11nXNwaao0cTEfQrGzkAY3h6-Un1yOoqLadFZdqMfj_K7SdLM7MTqGcZLSrzbSnLJAQyOE8-m9D-oxyJTnLeC-7rJ-F4aJkW1HKnnlYEi2KPG9Yuiw/s320/Lannie.jpg" width="114" /></a></div>It still does…<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">...most of the time. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">While I have loved watching her succeed
so effortlessly, I have always worried about the time when it isn’t easy
anymore. Does she have the strength to push through? Will she give up or work
for what she wants?<o:p></o:p></p><br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">More than medals, I want her to
collect confidence, and strength and the ability to believe in herself even if she’s
the only one who does. I want her to be just as tough mentally as she is physically.
I want her to know the feeling of working hard for something and getting it. I
want her to never doubt herself. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Effortless and easy don’t often
equate to those things. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So, as bad as it sounds, I want
her to struggle sometimes. Not enough to break her, but just enough to keep her
always striving for more and KNOWING she can accomplish it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Back to these last two weeks…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArmCzUXBHlX7dH5nBK7wotN_wqrU_CetvupIDrqJRrCB1ebYn0sAifSsTsBAk0LXlvibMN5-XESDydmwRWYnANzLmKMA7GwV9PB6co9131dyTP5T6oZNOLj5ThFd9lbhl6GzmAZ394X52cEdbej8Mt1BA1pypgdb6ULxfHnUPRQ1zdKNvV4ZT9bNn/s2016/Lanni1e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArmCzUXBHlX7dH5nBK7wotN_wqrU_CetvupIDrqJRrCB1ebYn0sAifSsTsBAk0LXlvibMN5-XESDydmwRWYnANzLmKMA7GwV9PB6co9131dyTP5T6oZNOLj5ThFd9lbhl6GzmAZ394X52cEdbej8Mt1BA1pypgdb6ULxfHnUPRQ1zdKNvV4ZT9bNn/w150-h200/Lanni1e.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>She got the struggle I’ve been
waiting for, and I second guessed my entire parenting style. Watching her really
struggle was tough. Watching her walk out of class in tears and go to bed in
tears was gut-wrenching. Knowing I couldn’t help was even harder. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">As I was second guessing the
sport, her ability, my role in pushing her, I realized she wasn’t second
guessing anything. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She was frustrated and shed a lot
of tears, but she kept showing up and kept working. Her coaches pushed her when
she needed and made her stop when she needed a break. Sometimes she cried
because she couldn’t land that damn back walkover and sometimes, she cried
because she got kicked off the beam (she needed to be), but she NEVER gave up
and never asked to quit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyFTqsKss-giM0lqoXLEOYNA4ji_NTQnh6KPFeAjehXcFf761DxJZXQigSTUMnb6i36fOOsCpEdezAn0mOOnA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p>She came home this week determined
to land the back walkover without a spot, and she did it. She also collected
some of those other things: confidence, belief in her ability, mental toughness.
Those are the things I’m most thankful for…and grateful. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Grateful because she has some
amazing humans in her corner. They believe in her more than she does sometimes.
They know when to help and when to let her depend on herself. They may not be
changing the world, but they are changing this little girl’s world.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Landry will likely never compete in the Olympics and may not even compete at the collegiate level, but she will take the lessons learned in the gym with her throughout her life, they will help to shape her into the adult she will be one day. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">If I never say it directly... THANK YOU. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Thank you for the lessons, the friendships, the family.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Thank you for helping my girl to believe in herself and reach her goals. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p>And with that....</o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Competition is coming up this
weekend and we’re rolling into it with ALL the confidence…. <o:p></o:p></p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-4835363837056501372021-12-24T08:37:00.002-07:002021-12-24T08:37:41.512-07:00Tell Me My Ass Looks Good…Make It Weird<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; text-align: left;">Anyone who knows me knows I’ve been on “a diet…or something” lately. </span></div><p></p><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">You see what happened was…</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I woke up on my birthday last month and looked like shit and felt like shit</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">If you know me you also know I quit smoking last year. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Well, instead of getting active and healthy I apparently shoveled bon bons in my face for a full year. I was the opposite of active and healthy. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I’m also cheap and vain. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Not a good combo when none of your pants fit and there are fat rolls hanging out everywhere mocking you. . </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">So back to my birthday morning…I decided to do something. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I contacted a trainer, got a meal plan, exercise plan and list of supplements. </div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqStjVqkeBG21j37uJXm0E7vU_A5BeUskgA9FjI_745eNdGZetM-qmbhv5lSaXiaj4fE-Sa7CJsqcsBGYGJt_8Kf7w1SVMJEMFI72t2qtba0oThF2Q9v0aePSDzn3WMvNrzt8EeSABJetvM3m__AaKjqFdgYE5Q2SqbY6O8nzk24R79DTirQqMZB1D=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqStjVqkeBG21j37uJXm0E7vU_A5BeUskgA9FjI_745eNdGZetM-qmbhv5lSaXiaj4fE-Sa7CJsqcsBGYGJt_8Kf7w1SVMJEMFI72t2qtba0oThF2Q9v0aePSDzn3WMvNrzt8EeSABJetvM3m__AaKjqFdgYE5Q2SqbY6O8nzk24R79DTirQqMZB1D=w200-h150" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">started meal prepping, I eat clean, I drink water, I work out and ITS WORKING! </span></span><div><br /></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;">I haven’t had a beer or quarter pounder in almost a month! I don't even know who I am anymore 🤣</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; clear: right; display: inline !important; font-size: x-large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzTYlVgQTKgu38q2qsrFGwfza0Nx-KsenGqGx3vLQRftXo6knR7EVqla-l7pdMn3-4fhUaQLkBSEC6qFB9PYiVB8Ntq67Jdp32Y12ZpVmKxYDygBIxALQYLqpFQvUmg7b6E1nOmrcVMK3uTao96jYAgPKZrE4ghErtJQ76V2iQgprm_jp_D98U7Sjg=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzTYlVgQTKgu38q2qsrFGwfza0Nx-KsenGqGx3vLQRftXo6knR7EVqla-l7pdMn3-4fhUaQLkBSEC6qFB9PYiVB8Ntq67Jdp32Y12ZpVmKxYDygBIxALQYLqpFQvUmg7b6E1nOmrcVMK3uTao96jYAgPKZrE4ghErtJQ76V2iQgprm_jp_D98U7Sjg=s320" width="256" /></a></div><br /></span><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">Don’t get me wrong…they still smell and sound REALLY good, but no cellulite on my ass feels better. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I’m no where near my final goal, but I’m 4 weeks in and I’m down 3” and over 10lbs!!! </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">If you see me don’t be shy - tell me I look tiny, that my ass looks good…make it weird…. </div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">(Let me know if you want my trainers info…I’ll share her contact, but not my meal plan.)</div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-91593898577793501282021-04-01T11:34:00.001-06:002021-04-01T11:50:50.501-06:00The Longest Goodbye<p>When I sat down to write this post I fully intended it to be a funny little tribute to Big Red (who isn't very big nor is she red anymore).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqUYmHD-T-N_PuZpj9Qhbw6x8vqPVEsNNxw9KmFMzkI17xS0r9_zQ66xCBpz4pNPHrXwWdyuLgQRJZSxGJIfft0Zp2r5Gd2KNKYlixB4rF6cIWTM0JoHi9tJw88PxUPlY_yahvKTyp-Y/s1280/text.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="591" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvqUYmHD-T-N_PuZpj9Qhbw6x8vqPVEsNNxw9KmFMzkI17xS0r9_zQ66xCBpz4pNPHrXwWdyuLgQRJZSxGJIfft0Zp2r5Gd2KNKYlixB4rF6cIWTM0JoHi9tJw88PxUPlY_yahvKTyp-Y/w149-h320/text.png" width="149" /></a></div>This morning the school sent me a notification that she was absent in her first class, so I texted her to find out where she was. She promptly texted me back telling me she was in said class with a picture of her looking confused...in class. <p></p><div style="text-align: left;">This has happened before...it made me chuckle. </div><div style="text-align: left;">(No I'm not a moron receiving pre-planned pictures...the absences are always updated and she is actually there...I also have GPS on her phone to confirm) </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> My intention here was to share with you the running theme of our relationship now...it's based mainly on text messages and revolves around her location and my payments. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIYxTewfTQVzKIIl381bx6J6_isd5FaDyiEB7tYWJtn5XD_R8HD8-bIt8phx3msfWYkti-bQZZ0kxSddpzDSBPl3Qdtbs6ZfiX9gIcCAFWwyWPyd9-GcelmwiVJGA3aYW_kG-AK_xsIE/s828/ph2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="721" data-original-width="828" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIYxTewfTQVzKIIl381bx6J6_isd5FaDyiEB7tYWJtn5XD_R8HD8-bIt8phx3msfWYkti-bQZZ0kxSddpzDSBPl3Qdtbs6ZfiX9gIcCAFWwyWPyd9-GcelmwiVJGA3aYW_kG-AK_xsIE/w200-h174/ph2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVLfVbAubiJeWNFm5Yt3prrx2x5T-Nm35eKiCMjwO1xXD_lXsCdMJyHni5v_0vMcMSuaJeSgWVRHiZa1oJd-QfyFaYFh9nWjr1uTnc6CkCcX6rd58YJCwna3aShqhpybMiq87t71586Y/s1280/ph3.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="591" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghVLfVbAubiJeWNFm5Yt3prrx2x5T-Nm35eKiCMjwO1xXD_lXsCdMJyHni5v_0vMcMSuaJeSgWVRHiZa1oJd-QfyFaYFh9nWjr1uTnc6CkCcX6rd58YJCwna3aShqhpybMiq87t71586Y/w93-h200/ph3.png" width="93" /></a>Where are you?</div><div style="text-align: left;">When will you be home?</div><div style="text-align: left;">Yes I can send you $20, $40, $50.</div><div style="text-align: left;">You weren't here and this thing happened and I knew you'd think it was funny so here is a picture...<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;">I started reading through our string of texts and I chuckled at first.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Then the tears came.</div><p> While reading our daily exchanges I realized that I was literally watching my baby grow up and letting her go message by message.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZAXeCr0Xu-l-pDedBwEl14WiS_sw78H8zSyDGpR-MA88tt2GsDsQl-qpLgsXSSfHDi4GPk72gXrXStJC_jF6GLcfshMufqNz4R8bXu55lL8MVfR1hVsrIJAeeqiksDVzCV-WkbPGW1U/s1792/Kait+Mom.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZAXeCr0Xu-l-pDedBwEl14WiS_sw78H8zSyDGpR-MA88tt2GsDsQl-qpLgsXSSfHDi4GPk72gXrXStJC_jF6GLcfshMufqNz4R8bXu55lL8MVfR1hVsrIJAeeqiksDVzCV-WkbPGW1U/s320/Kait+Mom.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> It's the longest goodbye I've ever experienced. It's excruciating, and humbling, exciting and terrifying all at the same time. </p><div style="text-align: left;">There is this young woman in place of the quiet little blond girl I still expect to see. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">She is strong, and bold, and funny and fierce.</div><div style="text-align: left;">She is even more beautiful on the inside than she is on the outside. </div><div style="text-align: left;">She has learned to not take life or herself too seriously.</div><div style="text-align: left;">She's everything I wished for her to be 18 years ago. <div style="text-align: left;">She will succeed and she will be amazing.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1g8oJzgvf39fJKTk6Eh6LvoBuou4DzYJ457se30Bp1EVsLLXFwtmWKElO58FeSsYF0xhBa02xCBTZiahxuRwNn3Fx1ntPb_njyeFc76NnaOxwH2omA6LVIl3hsFTONpDnUv0amVZJ8o/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1g8oJzgvf39fJKTk6Eh6LvoBuou4DzYJ457se30Bp1EVsLLXFwtmWKElO58FeSsYF0xhBa02xCBTZiahxuRwNn3Fx1ntPb_njyeFc76NnaOxwH2omA6LVIl3hsFTONpDnUv0amVZJ8o/" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">She's also preparing to graduate and move out. </div><div style="text-align: left;">And I'm preparing to say goodbye.</div><div style="text-align: left;">...in tiny increments, with individual text messages <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Flying is terrifying. </div><div style="text-align: left;">Especially when you're the one watching from the ground.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"><i> </i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: times;"><i>Kaitlynn, I am so incredibly lucky God chose me to be your Mama! I am proud to call you mine. Keep chasing your dreams sweet girl, you are unstoppable.</i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b> </b></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PEQTSvQsUxIOitSYnzOM5N6rxl-iZRsf3VlXMJUR8Ab7A8cw4YG0wjffg-50AT8np4_PKzFHpyC4K37LpWXR4SQtKq1o4WEJM6XUIexVOeqHUvH1EuubihC9TJBPdrchssmT8C0onmo/s569/613vwxuG1pL._AC_SX569_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="569" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PEQTSvQsUxIOitSYnzOM5N6rxl-iZRsf3VlXMJUR8Ab7A8cw4YG0wjffg-50AT8np4_PKzFHpyC4K37LpWXR4SQtKq1o4WEJM6XUIexVOeqHUvH1EuubihC9TJBPdrchssmT8C0onmo/s320/613vwxuG1pL._AC_SX569_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-67304553526457545702020-05-16T11:20:00.001-06:002020-05-16T11:35:37.738-06:00God’s Got Jokes Sit back and let me tell you a story of God, the swimming pools and how Walmart is the devil...<div><br></div><div>Let me back up by a few weeks. </div><div>I recently hijacked a coworkers printout at work. It was unintentional. As I was shuffling through my papers it caught my eye. Before I returned It I asked if it was ok to take a copy. It was a printout of a bible reading system called “professor G Horner’s Bible Reading system” It is a somewhat random system where you read 10 different chapters a day from all different parts of the Bible...so you’re always reading about different things and different lessons etc. </div><div><img id="id_a252_2d30_e638_3433" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/DEDeyeXtfCr88fW_7gJUSZIMPEbuuqkSL2RFW0_NHUlKz7ioplXGujvuawgXGOI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div><br></div><div>Back to the fucking pool fiasco: </div><div><br></div><div>So, I decided to buy a giant ass pool for the back yard. (We have nowhere to put it, hubs didn’t want it and I have literally not a single fucking clue how to take care of a pool....so of course I bought it)</div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_387d_1f44_4de6_16bb" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/U2gEf3mJcOhBbrxW9CcEGv1IqOFQ8SjMu7v3v4t19Z7v4azkNK6s3MLfFW1v5RU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div><br></div><div>I bought this pool online from Walmart and set it for pick-up. When It arrived I was notified by email to come and get it. By this point the hubs had submitted to our pool ownership so he picked up the pool. </div><div><br></div><div>The next day as I’m packing up to leave work I get another email from Walmart saying my pick up item is ready. I don’t remember ordering anything else so I call derek and check with him. Nope, he hasn’t ordered anything either. </div><div><br></div><div>Well, it’s quarantine season y’all and I’ve done a metric fuck-ton of online ordering so I’m assuming that I just forgot I ordered something. Either way it ought to be a fun surprise. </div><div><img id="id_81bf_ca5f_f21e_6e37" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/lhyPanV930_arIjrf5-nd7J39NVD1EExo9KKfw7p2SmmebuTwzsTt-4QUl6-NSA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div>I get there, check in and am notified that my item is too big to fit in the pick up box. I’m told someone is wheeling my package up as we speak. (That’s 567 years in Walmart time by the way) </div><div>Anyway, the little Walmart man rounds the corner and it’s another giant ass pool!! I wait a bit and make that man call out the owner of the package. Yup, it’s me. I have A good laugh and load that fucker into the truck and head home. </div><div><br></div><div>When I pull into the driveway I’m still laughing at the absurdity of now having 2 pools that my husband didn’t want in the first place. (My husband just chuckled and shook his head as he’s used to my shenanigans by now) </div><div>But hey...I’ve got a free giant ass pool. </div><div><br></div><div>Here’s where that bible reading shit comes in....</div><div>Up until this point the Bible sections have been pretty random. Typical bible stuff: don’t kill, plagues, wars, creation, washing feet....</div><div><br></div><div>That all changed the night I brought home the devil pool. </div><div>I get Ready for bed and read my 10 chapters.</div><div><br></div><div>I SHIT YOU NOT- at least 7 of the 10 chapters were about thieves, stealing or being dishonest. I assume that this is all in my head....you know I’m already thinking these things so I’m finding it in everything I read. </div><div>This happens for the next 3 nights. </div><div><br></div><div>My conscience and the Bible get the better of me so I load up this giant ass pool and decide to bring it back. </div><div><img id="id_d59d_3f70_220b_5e50" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/5NZuSWajI-sNQbTL29TMcuWyVv0B87xI64RAg-SoN5igdZeSAbwS1_IzXrOV_RM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div><div>Easy right... “Hi Walmart person. I bought one pool and you gave me two. Here have this back, your welcome. Yeah you have a great day too!” </div><div><br></div><div>Abso-fucking-lutely not how it went... </div><div>Here’s the play by play: </div><div><br></div><div>I walk up to the customer service desk and talk to the “service” lady. Well call her CSL. </div><div><br></div><div>Me: Um, yeah I bought one pool but you sent me 2 delivery notices so I picked up 2 pool. I’d like to return one. </div><div>CSL: Do you have your receipt? I can’t give you a refund without your receipt. </div><div>Me: No, I don't have my receipt, but I don’t want a refund I just want to give you your pool back. </div><div>CSL: Well I can give you a store credit... </div><div>Me: No, look....I bought one pool and I picked up 2. I just want to give you back one. No money, no refunds, I just want to give you back the extra pool. </div><div>CSL: Well our system doesn’t work that way. You must have bought 2 by accident. It wouldn’t give you two pools. If you can’t find your receipt or your online order I can give you a refund. If not I’ll just give you a gift card with the refund on that. </div><div>Me: (I find My online order and pull up my bank account to verify and show the lady” Here, look. I bought One pool. Paid for one pool. I have 2 please just take this pool and let me leave. </div><div>CSL: (confused as all hell at this point) We’ll if you don’t want a refund I don’t have anything to scan and you can’t sign anything so i don’t know how to take the pool back. </div><div>Me: ok, I tried. How about I just walk away and we can forget this conversation. </div><div>CSL: No, hold on...let me call someone else. </div><div><br></div><div>At this point I’m thinking this is my payback...but it gets so much more ridiculous.</div><div><br></div><div>Out comes 2nd customer service lady who is equally as dumbfounded. We’ll call her 2. Lady 1 gives her the run down. And she looks at me and says </div><div><br></div><div>2: Our system won’t allow you to pick up 2 items. Are you sure you didn’t buy 2 by accident </div><div>Me: 200% positive I did not. See. Here is my order, here is my bank statement. Believe me...had I bought $800 in pools instead of $400 in pools I would have most certainly noticed. </div><div>2: Well I can give you a store credit for the pool but not a refund cause you don’t have a receipt. </div><div>Me: OMG...I don’t want a refund, I don’t want a credit, I don’t want a gift card. I just one of you people in the blue vests to come get this pool out of my truck and take it away from me for the love of god. </div><div>2: Looks me dead ass in the eyes and says “I would Have just kept the free pool. Why didn’t you just keep it and sell it or something” </div><div>Me: That was the plan...but the damn bible....you know what, never mind. I’ll just take the pool home and sell it. Yes, great idea. I should have thought of that. Thanks! </div><div><br></div><div>I have given up and I turn to leave... of course this lady stops me.</div><div><br></div><div>2: Well no, not that I know I cant Just give you the pool. </div><div>Me: (now laughing in absolute horror because I am realizing I will never leave this fucking store...) ok, well can someone just come take this damn pool out of my truck then. </div><div>2: ok, let me call the loss prevention supervisor. </div><div><br></div><div>I begin to panic a little here because I worked at Walmart for about a week back in the early 90’s and that’s what we called the people who caught shop lifters. </div><div><br></div><div>My fears are gone when I see A 17 year old kid with a red scraggly beard come around the corner. (I can drop him easy and run if I have to)</div><div>He has a look of utter confusion on his face but thank the fucking stars he’s got wheely cart. </div><div><br></div><div>We’ll call him #3. </div><div>One and two give 3 the rundown. </div><div>3 turns to me and says “you know I cant Give you a refund without a receipt” </div><div>Here we go.....</div><div><br></div><div>Me: Yes, I don’t want a refund, or credit. Look I’ve got a $20 in my purse. I will give you $20 if you just wheel this fucking cart to my truck and put the pool in it and take it away and let me go home to my family </div><div>3: (Looking at the other 2) I cant just put this in the back without having something to scan... </div><div>Me: you know what....give me a refund on a gift card and just keep the card. Please just take this motherfucking pool away from me and let me go home, it’s getting late. </div><div>3: Well I cant do that either, but I guess I’ll just go get the pool and figure it out.</div><div>Me: YES!!DO THAT!! That is PERFECT!! </div><div><br></div><div>So we wheel out to my truck and I open the hatch, 3 stops. “You sure you didn’t pay for 2 pools? Maybe you deserve a refund. Do you want to check again? </div><div><br></div><div>Me: No at this point it is worth the $400 to just get rid of this pool so I can leave this place. </div><div><br></div><div>3 finally gets to unloading the devil pool. (Remember he’s a scrawny kid) I’m holding the cart and he’s maneuvering the pool. We’re about 3” from freedom when the angels of satan #4 and #5 show up. </div><div><br></div><div>They see #3 struggling with this pool and run over and grab the pool box and cram it back INSIDE my truck. </div><div><br></div><div>Me: OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!! No! Take it out! Not in!! </div><div><br></div><div>Well number 4 or 5 must have been a manager... we give him the rundown and he starts in with “they system doesn’t work that way, need a receipt for a refund....” </div><div><br></div><div>By now I’m thinking of just leaving the pool and the truck and getting an Uber and just cutting my losses. </div><div><br></div><div>I stop them all when we get to the receipts and credits discussion and say “Look, no refunds, no credits, you can unload this pool and take it away or I am going to get in the back and kick this motherfucker out and leave it in the parking lot. I am two hours into this debacle. For the love of god can you please just take the damn pool” </div><div><br></div><div>Thank you tiny baby Jesus they took the pool and I finally got to come home. </div><div><br></div><div>We will be setting up our bought-and-paid-for-pool this weekend and moving on.....My conscience feels better but my brain still hurts. </div><div><br></div><div>This is how I know God’s got jokes and Walmart is the devil. </div><div><br></div><div>....and if you ever accidentally get 2 of something from Walmart just leave it at the fucking door and RUN!!! </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>Thanks for playing </div><div>~Ash</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-71676842817513819762019-01-03T19:27:00.002-07:002019-01-03T19:27:22.894-07:00So....a baby shower?<div style="text-align: center;">
Introducing Derek's new baby: a 112lb-6oz , 181 month old baby girl!!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7VTLGVJpy5pMsyXEm6YoNfujpVF6ds86PgSqJ79l3FGBhBw6mPbUOqbH0AvHjbbKL8ip9HD54z4eSZsxx-xIVa75DdhhIaUVFGWNsI0rOQwz0U5MJBxMbK9ja9KkJiFfb6Gd7-UNaGQ/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1044" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT7VTLGVJpy5pMsyXEm6YoNfujpVF6ds86PgSqJ79l3FGBhBw6mPbUOqbH0AvHjbbKL8ip9HD54z4eSZsxx-xIVa75DdhhIaUVFGWNsI0rOQwz0U5MJBxMbK9ja9KkJiFfb6Gd7-UNaGQ/s320/download.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
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Yep, you read that right.... We have a new Yaste in the house. </div>
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Kaitlynn is officially Kaitlynn Michael Yaste! Derek finally adopted his biggest, most obnoxious baby. </div>
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We're thinking of having a baby shower - only there will be booze and please bring $20's instead of diapers (just give them to the teenager - she takes them all anyway) </div>
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It's finally official: as of December 28, 2018 Derek is Kaitlynn's legal father. I'm so happy!</div>
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<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/48932602_10156788151652357_6471684097734344704_n.jpg?_nc_cat=109&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=173c9cd494ab0298eb52dbce91ee1361&oe=5C8EF61F" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: 6 people, including Derek Yaste and Ashley Yaste, people smiling, people sitting and indoor" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="240" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/48932602_10156788151652357_6471684097734344704_n.jpg?_nc_cat=109&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=173c9cd494ab0298eb52dbce91ee1361&oe=5C8EF61F" width="320" /></a>Happy that Kaitlynn has a dad that that adores her the way Derek does, happy that Derek gets to say she's legally his daughter, happy that now they'll quit bugging me not to die for fear of where she'll go..... </div>
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It's weird - so much has changed legally, but not a thing has changed in our day to day lives. It's huge and nothing all at once. It feels like it should have always been this way. </div>
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<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/48404069_10156776064562357_8190878155347591168_n.jpg?_nc_cat=111&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=ca19fc82ee1866107c06e22ff24a5a4e&oe=5CC92728" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: 3 people, including Derek Yaste and Ashley Yaste, people smiling, people standing and indoor" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="200" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/48404069_10156776064562357_8190878155347591168_n.jpg?_nc_cat=111&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=ca19fc82ee1866107c06e22ff24a5a4e&oe=5CC92728" width="150" /></a>Before we all go about our normal days I wanted to leave both my daughter and my husband a few of my thoughts. We all know I don't really do "feelings" so I'm going to write them. I'm also going to post them on my public blog in case you ever want to reference them again also because I really need to start posting again. (I really need you kids to start being entertaining again....)</div>
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Anyway,</div>
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<b>To my Daughter:</b></div>
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I know this is an amazing moment for you and I am so happy for all of us. </div>
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I also know that it is or at some point will be both amazing and bittersweet. Don't let the sting of the actions of others taint your happiness today or your self worth EVER. </div>
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In life you will undoubtedly encounter people and situations that will make you question your worth. When that time comes remember Dec. 28, 2019. </div>
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<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/46648125_10156701949092357_36738660623712256_n.jpg?_nc_cat=106&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=5259435525fd1e92618fc5da5dd8e226&oe=5C962296" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: 2 people, including Ashley Yaste, people smiling, people standing and indoor" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="320" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/46648125_10156701949092357_36738660623712256_n.jpg?_nc_cat=106&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=5259435525fd1e92618fc5da5dd8e226&oe=5C962296" width="179" /></a>Remember the past 9 years. </div>
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Remember the man who loved you at first sight. </div>
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The man that continued to love you for another 9 years knowing you would probably always be "just kind of his" and he might always be just a step-dad. </div>
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Remember the man who loved you no different and no less even if he was just your step dad because you were worth it. </div>
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Remember the man that told you he loved you even after you screwed up. </div>
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Remember all of that and understand that he didn't have to. </div>
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He didn't have to love you like his. </div>
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He didn't have to enjoy being with you. </div>
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He didn't have to enjoy being a step dad. </div>
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Remember and understand those things and know in your heart that he didn't have to but he did. </div>
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He did because of you. </div>
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He loved you because of you, he cared for you and took care of you because of you. </div>
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Because you, my beautiful, strong, sensitive, funny daughter; you are worth every bit of that love. </div>
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If you ever doubt that or wonder if you are enough re-read this and know that you absolutely are. You are deserving of love and respect and time and laughter and all of the good things in life. You will always be worth it and you will always be enough. When the world seems to hate you and it feels like life is crashing around you know that your father and I will always be here and we will always love you. </div>
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<b>To my Husband:</b></div>
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Thank you. </div>
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Thank you for loving me and loving my daughter unconditionally and without stipulations. </div>
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<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/36745294_10156362489172357_7932931825528209408_n.jpg?_nc_cat=110&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=e2bd9e95bb171efb622255fa82299425&oe=5C926D63" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: Derek Yaste, smiling, hat and closeup" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="320" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/36745294_10156362489172357_7932931825528209408_n.jpg?_nc_cat=110&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=e2bd9e95bb171efb622255fa82299425&oe=5C926D63" width="180" /></a>Thank you for being a dad to a little girl who desperately needed one but wasn't always easy to love. Thank you for never opting out, never backing down and always being there for her. </div>
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Thank you for acting like a father even when it wasn't your responsibility or fun or easy. </div>
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Thank you for sharing in the sleepless nights and the frustrations and the joys and the celebrations equally. Thank you for being present in her life no matter what.</div>
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Thank you for always being there for a little girl that was used to being let down. For showing her that dad's do keep their word and love is unconditional.</div>
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Thank you for showing her what it's like to be a priority.</div>
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Thank you for never once giving up on any of us. It's been a long road to this day- we have had ups and downs and even some sideways, but we've gotten through it together. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I couldn't have done any of this without you, your encouragement and support. I couldn't have picked a better father for my children. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You are kind and patient and strong and most of all loving.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You make us all feel loved and safe. You are our safe place. Home is not the same when your gone. I love watching you with our children. I love how much you love them. I love how much you love all of us. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
They might learn how to wire a furnace from me, but they will be good people because of what they learn from you.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<b></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thank you for being my partner, my best friend and best the father to all of our children.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If I die tomorrow I'm content knowing that they have you to love and protect them. (I'll also haunt you if you ever re-marry - don't bother. -just an FYI)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<b></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/44022983_10156604475972357_6118455374447116288_n.jpg?_nc_cat=108&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=9004a8ae88712292fe99e0176b120791&oe=5CC331BF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, standing, sky and outdoor" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="320" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/44022983_10156604475972357_6118455374447116288_n.jpg?_nc_cat=108&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=9004a8ae88712292fe99e0176b120791&oe=5CC331BF" width="240" /></a>I'm so happy for you both. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You both deserve this and all the amazing things life has to offer. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-26280295002192342542019-01-03T16:08:00.000-07:002019-01-03T16:08:01.901-07:00Random New Years Reflections<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5967a75d725e258a852dbf16/t/5c0ab9e2b8a045f531dbe018/1544206823163/hello+2019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for 2019" border="0" class="irc_mi" height="200" src="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5967a75d725e258a852dbf16/t/5c0ab9e2b8a045f531dbe018/1544206823163/hello+2019.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="159" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Holy shit another year has come and gone. </span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b>IT"S 2019! </b> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica", sans-serif;"> (and here are some of my random thoughts at the beginning of a new year...) </span></span></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/1930895_29646762356_2032_n.jpg?_nc_cat=103&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=73124a0998fc97d96895f8172ca29138&oe=5CC72C09" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: one or more people and people standing" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="240" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/1930895_29646762356_2032_n.jpg?_nc_cat=103&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=73124a0998fc97d96895f8172ca29138&oe=5CC72C09" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s been
10 years since my dad passed. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I have 2 children he’s never met and
countless stories he’ll never hear. I have a husband who he would have adored. (He would have driven Derek insane...)</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; min-height: 13.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s so odd this
whole loss and grief thing....maybe it’s because it’s been 10 years or maybe
because he wasn’t a constant presence in my life but it’s not raw and
painful. If I'm being honest I don't know that it ever was... </span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Don't get me wrong. I loved him and I grieved his death. The days leading to and right after were some of the hardest I've ever had to face. But the absence was a familiar presence in our relationship - It wasn't a gaping hole that just materialized one day. No contact and sporadic contact was the norm for us.</span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I'll go spans of time without thinking about him, then out of the
blue, for a split second I’ll think of calling or I'll find myself wondering how he’s doing, then I
remember...he’s gone. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; min-height: 13.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He was an addict
and our relationship was difficult at the best of times, but I don’t regret any of it. </span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">From a young age I had to be the one to set boundaries or to walk away when my father wasn't capable of being a positive presence in my life. I also had to learn to accept those times he chose to walk away. I had to learn to continue on with my "normal" life. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; min-height: 13.8px;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was definitely hard and confusing, but I gained so much.</span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I gained the
ability to stand up for myself, I know how to say no, I know how to walk away
from anything that isn’t good for me, i know how to separate others actions
from my self worth. I've learned that I can be enough for myself. </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; min-height: 13.8px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That last one, the self worth was
hard earned. I took a very long time to really get it, but it's the most important lesson I’ve ever learned. </span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I owe that to two of the most important women in my life. Two women who are the best examples of strong, courageous women, wives and mothers that anyone could ever have. </span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Those two are my Mom and my nannie Dette (godmother for all you yankees).</span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hopefully I'll be like you two when I grow up ;) </span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hopefully my daughter will see me in the same light as I see you two.</span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> You're both so different and so much alike. You've endured more than your share of struggles and you've done it with humor and love and grace. </span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You've come out the other side of all of those struggles not jaded or cynical but stronger and with a purpose.</span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">When I was young I remember crying to my nannie because of some situation going on with my dad. I don't remember the situation and I don't really remember our whole conversation. What I do remember asking is why - why doesn't he love me enough to be normal and saying how mad I was because it just want fair. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/422485_10101158900516105_122920417_n.jpg?_nc_cat=105&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=869316b4c9646e375642d69a524dcc28&oe=5CD59D80" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: one or more people and indoor" aria-busy="true" border="0" class="spotlight" height="200" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/422485_10101158900516105_122920417_n.jpg?_nc_cat=105&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=869316b4c9646e375642d69a524dcc28&oe=5CD59D80" width="149" /></a></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I'll never forget her words - <b><i>"he loves you as much as he can. He doesn't choose to love you less. He loves you differently because that's all he's capable of"</i></b></span></div>
<div style="font-stretch: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She also told me that once I understood that I might be able to understand and not be so angry and one day it clicked - my fathers issues had nothing to do with me or how I measured up. He wasn't aiming to hurt me, just doing all he was capable of at the time. Once I was able to see that it wasn't a reflection of me I was able to see him for what he was- a sick man doing what he could at that moment in time. It didn't "fix" any of his issues or make our relationship magically better - I was just able to get rid of the anger and love him in spite of everything. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So thank you Nannie - not just for all those caramel pecan logs and the bible verses and the fun sleepovers, but for playing such a huge part helping me to be a whole and healthy person. thank you for listening to me and giving me advice. <span style="font-size: large;"><b> Thank you for always having fried seafood when I show up!</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then there's my momma. She's literally the best person on the planet. Without her I'd have been in a box under a bridge somewhere. Literally...she was a single mom. Like I would have been totally screwed if she decided momming wasn't her thing...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Momming was <b>TOTALLY </b>her thing...she's achieved sorcerer mom level (that's when your 38 year old daughter calls you to ask how to cook things or if she needs a tetanus shot or to bitch about her kids and then profusely apologize for what a shitty teenager she was) </span></div>
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<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13690696_10154262972787357_2783877318575049752_n.jpg?_nc_cat=105&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=cb43cacfc32d151126cbf843e233acc9&oe=5C934379" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: Ashley Yaste and Kathy Woods, people sitting and indoor" aria-busy="true" border="0" class="spotlight" height="320" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13690696_10154262972787357_2783877318575049752_n.jpg?_nc_cat=105&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=cb43cacfc32d151126cbf843e233acc9&oe=5C934379" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But seriously, my mom is the reason I am who I am. She's the reason I get up and go to work and try to be the best version of myself that I can. When I feel like throwing in the towel and going live in a van down by the river I'm reminded of everything she has overcome and then I realize what a whiny asshole I'm being. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If you've never met my mom there are a few things to know about her. She's had cancer 3 times now, she's overcome numerous health scares including a stroke. She's been married to a handful of shit bags who didn't deserve her (I'm not referring to anyone that's presently around) and made her life even harder. Most normal people would have given up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not her...actually the opposite. She has persevered through every obstacle thrown her way. She didn't become cynical or depressed. She just got up every day and did what needed to be done. She did it all with humor and grace. She's an amazing woman. She can bake an apple pie, recite the saints offensive line (and tell you just who screwed up when), sew legit clothes and curse you lower than a dog all before dinnertime without breaking a sweat.</span></div>
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<a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/1929170_1068264062595_3393366_n.jpg?_nc_cat=101&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=df2c208d0dd9dba3fc52d03146090262&oe=5C90E29C" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image may contain: one or more people, people sitting and outdoor" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="200" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/1929170_1068264062595_3393366_n.jpg?_nc_cat=101&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=df2c208d0dd9dba3fc52d03146090262&oe=5C90E29C" width="143" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I could go on for days about all of the things she's done but it's not individual things shes done for me its the perspective I've gained just watching her be her. She was told she wouldn't live during the cancer, she couldn't drive with the stroke, must be her after the divorces. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She's alive, she drives (god help all you people on Hwy 70), and she's happily married to one of the best men ever. She's also still funny as hell. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Growing up with her I learned that the only limit I have is myself. That my happiness is dependent on me, not my situation or others around me. A shitty circumstance is not a reason to be a shitty person nor is it a reason to give up. She taught me how to write a nasty letter and still keep it professional, how to tell someone to fuck off without saying a single curse word, and that sometimes you throw all of that advice to the wind and tell someone to fuck off - in those words. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She taught me how to know the difference between those two situations. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She taught me how to laugh at myself and find the humor in any situation. She made sure I never took myself too seriously. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She showed me every day that I was worth her time and effort. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She doesn't mince words and she's told me more than once that I disappointed her. As a matter of fact the exact statement was <b><i>"I don't like you right now, but I love you and I always will." </i></b>(usually followed up with how long I was grounded for)<b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She was tough - she put the fear of god in me. She raised me to say yes mam and no sir and to respect my elders. She'd whip my ass if I needed it and she was my cheerleader when I succeeded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She never took the easy route...<b>in anything</b> - apparently it's hereditary...I'm so glad it is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Life hasn't always been easy; it hasn't always been kind or fair but because of her I've been well equipped to roll with the punches and laugh instead of crying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All of the good things I am capable of, I learned from her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Most of her mom duties are over now and since then I've gained an amazing friend which is almost better (I can say fuck in front of her and drink and smoke around her too). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I'll be going into 2019 thankful for all that I have and all that I've experienced. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">In 38 years many people have come through my life. I'm thankful for every one of them. They've all changed me in some way. I'm thankful for the good times and shitty ones - the uncomfortable ones too. It's all made me who I am today. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica", sans-serif;">Thank you all for being a part of my life. </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">(especially the hubs who puts up with me on the regular)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span><a href="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/42666823_10156566019207357_3833778183111442432_n.jpg?_nc_cat=106&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=f0d2004863eaec4b585f7fdd3d737cad&oe=5CCD6518" imageanchor="1"><img alt="Image may contain: Derek Yaste and Ashley Yaste, people smiling, people standing" aria-busy="false" border="0" class="spotlight" height="400" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/42666823_10156566019207357_3833778183111442432_n.jpg?_nc_cat=106&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=f0d2004863eaec4b585f7fdd3d737cad&oe=5CCD6518" width="225" /></a></div>
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<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-51638942727158180832018-09-20T12:08:00.001-06:002018-09-20T12:15:07.457-06:00The Days Are Long....The other day a friend of mine posted about enjoying the mess in regards to her kiddos and how one day that mess will be gone.<br />
I immediately though of the saying: "The days are long but the years are short"<br />
Then I posted it.<br />
Then I thought: Well, wasn't that the the most pretentious and cliche shit to say.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmQj5S0L3PNKWphwrpryDydN2tHvgz3UrTmElkT63HxeZOOEdRncMWfcX-DahEKfYtvyailYa4oh83yCzhyXRJRTS5Sa2O2r59AVG_556q3PLZDw11K5tbGA78RvW4PiPdkz3_9MIY0U/s1600/Gretchen+Rubin+Quote+The+Days+are+long+but+the+years+are+short+the+happiness+project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmQj5S0L3PNKWphwrpryDydN2tHvgz3UrTmElkT63HxeZOOEdRncMWfcX-DahEKfYtvyailYa4oh83yCzhyXRJRTS5Sa2O2r59AVG_556q3PLZDw11K5tbGA78RvW4PiPdkz3_9MIY0U/s200/Gretchen+Rubin+Quote+The+Days+are+long+but+the+years+are+short+the+happiness+project.jpg" width="200" /></a>Then thought...yeah but it's true.<br />
Then I though - OMG - all of my kids are in school! Kait's out in 2 years and counting and the babies are hovering around 11 more years.<br />
Then I thought: Shit, 2 years...11 years...That's fast as fuck for one and OMG - the I'm gonna be dead before the babies ever leave my damn house!<br />
Then I thought: Shit, shit, shit....I also haven't blogged in like forever. I've got to do something or the kids are gonna have a really shitty baby book (read the intro page if you're confused here)<br />
<br />
Then I opened the blog and blew the dust off to find this little gem that I'd completely forgotten about. (I was probably interrupted before I could post it)<br />
<br />
As soon as I saw the title I knew I had to finish this shit and add an update!<br />
Here it is in all it's glory circa June(ish) 2017:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>THE DAYS ARE LONG, BUT THE YEARS ARE SHORT</b></span> </div>
Last night we registered Big Red for High School. <br />
<div>
I didn't even cry! </div>
<div>
It was actually fun. </div>
<div>
She was excited (<i>when she would forget to act too cool to be excited</i>). We were all kind of excited. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Holy shit y'all - This isn't the same High School we went to! </div>
<div>
The classes are insane: Forensic Science, Sculpting, Mythology, Hydrology, Engineering. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More than anything it didn't feel real. </div>
<div>
I felt like I should still be the one in high school NOT my baby.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jesus,
how did 14 years go by so fast? I don't know when it happened, but my
baby is not only a young lady, but damn near an adult.</div>
<div>
In
four years she'll be on her own. She'll be her own person and I'll
have to take a seat on the sidelines and watch her life unfold. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Four years used to feel like a lifetime. Today it feels far to soon and all too real.</div>
<div>
Four
years ago I had an 10 year old a 2 year old and and a baby. Four years
ago I didn't think we'd get here. I didn't think I'd make it through
the day at times. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Years ago I was whining to a friend about how impossible my life was with <i>"all these damn children that D forced me to have so he could trap me into marriage..."</i> and her response was<b> "The days are long, but the years are short."</b></div>
<div>
<br />
I
held in my eye roll and the snide remark, but I wanted to tell her
there's NOTHING short about shitty diapers and midnight feedings other
than the short little assholes who make and require them. <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Don't call CPS or assume I'm a horrible shit: I had two babies under 18 months and a middle-schooler <b>ALL </b>while
working full time! Oh! Also don't forget - D was working out of town
Monday through Thursday so I was doing this by myself even though I
technically had a back-up. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Anyway, back off Judgy-McJudgerson - I earned the right to call them assholes)</span></i><br />
<br />
<br />
Now that quote makes me cry like a damn idiot. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5MZ_bb_PUpiHhVa-2ug-qZBLiVGsWWVPsmjYXKmkYoobSeKjY8BWZz4PIovEwINPg6bVdRczKBgi00KTj679-SheSw5wEUiUZO-uaqF7qbKjKgALq1PuERZ0621Ntb830L3VA_k8bv0/s1600/364932-Gretchen-Rubin-Quote-The-days-are-long-but-the-years-are-short.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5MZ_bb_PUpiHhVa-2ug-qZBLiVGsWWVPsmjYXKmkYoobSeKjY8BWZz4PIovEwINPg6bVdRczKBgi00KTj679-SheSw5wEUiUZO-uaqF7qbKjKgALq1PuERZ0621Ntb830L3VA_k8bv0/s640/364932-Gretchen-Rubin-Quote-The-days-are-long-but-the-years-are-short.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last
night on the way home from cheer she asked me a question and I wanted
to give her an answer that she would always remember, but about 40
seconds into my heartfelt response I saw her staring into the vanity
mirror making kissy faces and taking selfies...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I realized a few things:</div>
<div>
1) I'll have to print this out as a book because she won't actually "feel my pain" till she's feeling her own</div>
<div>
2) She's still a dick</div>
<div>
2) She makes a really good kissy face</div>
<div>
3) Even if I forced her to listen to my speech she wouldn't get it...it's not even in her realm of thought yet. </div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The End</b><br />
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Fast forward about a year: </div>
</div>
09/20/2018<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-SRMe2H7ftyOrCGNxNwi1mz1AXKb8RnXVgyi0abrHee3mBHo8so8dBDeurHU290ey9RGA1GkA8dpjJw8HRlV5PBlRhyphenhyphenz3PriDP9bKKhPBQ81JyZ9hBOF9Fdcx_JGcVtkAzqJV5zkJDM/s1600/kk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-SRMe2H7ftyOrCGNxNwi1mz1AXKb8RnXVgyi0abrHee3mBHo8so8dBDeurHU290ey9RGA1GkA8dpjJw8HRlV5PBlRhyphenhyphenz3PriDP9bKKhPBQ81JyZ9hBOF9Fdcx_JGcVtkAzqJV5zkJDM/s320/kk.jpg" width="240" /></a>The days are still really fucking long (mostly because my teenager has a cell phone and repeatedly texts me about shit that can wait till later...and meetings - always meetings)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The years are a vortex of mind fuckery:<br />
They seem short in reference to big Red. Oh my god do they seem short! I don't know where 15 years went. I feel like shes slipping through my fingers in front of my eyes. But they're also amazing and wonderful and fun.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JsWG-QxOaTV665mIoz92zG9edUb8Jr8wsLj5cMDRGMOFw35ywXRejS5VBCqeeDFW2o6ZQ69Y3BI5iMzHTJMf80DTaSNn4A8hohor0xLkthKvaodVoRcjD9lk0mdUNQF5VRbm-K-wsGg/s1600/58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0JsWG-QxOaTV665mIoz92zG9edUb8Jr8wsLj5cMDRGMOFw35ywXRejS5VBCqeeDFW2o6ZQ69Y3BI5iMzHTJMf80DTaSNn4A8hohor0xLkthKvaodVoRcjD9lk0mdUNQF5VRbm-K-wsGg/s320/58.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
She's a real person with empathy and shit now (tempered by teenage hormones of course),but shes just fun to be with in general. Shes got amazing friends who are just as insane as she is - I never thought I could really truly love a bunch of overly dramatic teenage girls but I've acquired about 6 bonus daughters since my last post. They are all possibly clinically insane and belong in an drama troupe touring the world, but they're smart, and funny, beautiful, caring and they lift each other up and are genuinely happy when the others succeed and supportive like no other. (Some of you bitches could learn a lesson or two from the crazy girls....just sayin') <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yfS2cYBdCY9DVzOh9y6r8peNjL2J0ofQtLkFVEkTwOGjIFW-kE6EYJmcBb6Bb9l4jD56ke3YuYIppwZydadIbECAi2PNT6rlXv0x8VFI47D8VeVol5LU0i2hzTdenMX6IH3hc8M6by0/s1600/12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yfS2cYBdCY9DVzOh9y6r8peNjL2J0ofQtLkFVEkTwOGjIFW-kE6EYJmcBb6Bb9l4jD56ke3YuYIppwZydadIbECAi2PNT6rlXv0x8VFI47D8VeVol5LU0i2hzTdenMX6IH3hc8M6by0/s200/12.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The years are still relatively slow for the babies... <br />
<br />
Lannie is in Kindergarten and and I feel like we've been practicing sight words for 6,000 years and we still only know 3 of them. What really slows it down is shat she really doesn't give a flying fuck if she learns them or not. Clearly, shes a princess and we should all be grateful that she bothered to learn the 3 that she did.<br />
(OMG this child hurts my fucking head...but Jesus shes cute)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNnTc-S8ljrNyvgUju6zM_I3w6BRAIxRQpZLsJDM7f_D389tqNZzFrVctKl8u5-0N6qyFy5-Qp4K85djmAfaw3X_VRAtzPpW5oO75ZculOqlQpHuEg_w5OvWXxZJ-HGP3F7Akn6dEYe7o/s1600/54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNnTc-S8ljrNyvgUju6zM_I3w6BRAIxRQpZLsJDM7f_D389tqNZzFrVctKl8u5-0N6qyFy5-Qp4K85djmAfaw3X_VRAtzPpW5oO75ZculOqlQpHuEg_w5OvWXxZJ-HGP3F7Akn6dEYe7o/s200/54.jpg" width="150" /></a>Jaxon is still Jaxon - teetering between guns and cars and video games. He's still the same old dependable Jaxon. He hates vegetables and his favorite food group is <span class="st">FD&C <i>Red</i> No. whatever (maybe even a little yellow dye too).</span> I'm fully convinced that he's the only one who will not stick our asses in a nursing home. I'm working on secretly hinting that he's the favorite in an effort to get nice digs when I'm crapping myself while still making him taste carrots and green beans. It's a fine line...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsnf-3zmQZKDzL7fIDqmu8PyArcKcURE4KotEu0phKM8wk_xOAdpm8uVL1G0kSVNo74nkDOAfvVhnWZ2TBPItIVqiibV9xHY9yc8I9HGCK57l-c7IJXZ_d0DVm8Fbj2oG303jUaK9F5H4/s1600/k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsnf-3zmQZKDzL7fIDqmu8PyArcKcURE4KotEu0phKM8wk_xOAdpm8uVL1G0kSVNo74nkDOAfvVhnWZ2TBPItIVqiibV9xHY9yc8I9HGCK57l-c7IJXZ_d0DVm8Fbj2oG303jUaK9F5H4/s200/k.jpg" width="150" /></a>The general day to day hasn't changed much <br />
I still don't have a clue if I'm coming or going...No more shitty diapers and midnight feedings, but now I have 3 little moochers to verbally remind me when I fuck up and buy the crappy snacks.<br />
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I also have 3 wonderful humans who are all capable of saying "Thank You" and "I Love You" - they even say it sometimes too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYk-8ALw2bsi82fPfE1VRcZDyIAYEDy37yQ48JQVqe-oVX5OlRZEY3P_XJe-uyUxRR2Ean5sAflbEI2luR794O3lMLj-D7lBJtLUZch9X0-iRup-B_fd-qDFJhDkSjv0teSMUWB06ilgw/s1600/ll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYk-8ALw2bsi82fPfE1VRcZDyIAYEDy37yQ48JQVqe-oVX5OlRZEY3P_XJe-uyUxRR2Ean5sAflbEI2luR794O3lMLj-D7lBJtLUZch9X0-iRup-B_fd-qDFJhDkSjv0teSMUWB06ilgw/s200/ll.jpg" width="112" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGEIfOoehXy4qMNx_Ysq7v25R_JpKx-8NQPYA1tlvTR8zwG7cKUn7S84WZwWR3kbWiQV-1Rf2GiLq-Hi4spIx1lfkDEXSpL6djO_9JxIBQucojr-J6lgmbrtoOyQByvst3glEJ7MZc2Q/s1600/jkf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGEIfOoehXy4qMNx_Ysq7v25R_JpKx-8NQPYA1tlvTR8zwG7cKUn7S84WZwWR3kbWiQV-1Rf2GiLq-Hi4spIx1lfkDEXSpL6djO_9JxIBQucojr-J6lgmbrtoOyQByvst3glEJ7MZc2Q/s320/jkf.jpg" width="320" /></a>Some days are long, some feel like they're never gonna fucking end, some aren't long enough, but the years aren't really noticeable till they're gone. Then they're so fucking short it's scary.....<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-79689982000573991672018-03-13T08:55:00.001-06:002018-03-14T08:02:57.150-06:00Just don’t make a sign and chant a silly chant...<div>So, we had the walk out discussion which I’m sure most any parent with a high schooler has. </div><div><br></div><div> This is our conversation below. Initially, I had planned on telling Kait her ass would be in school and in class getting the education she was there for, but we called an audible. </div><div><br></div><div>*Side-note so this isn’t super confusing* </div><div>Kait is raised by Derek and I so she’s referencing walking out in support of allowing teachers to arm themselves if they choose. </div><div><br></div><div>Our conversation went like this: </div><div><br></div><div>Derek: Hey don’t you have a trump shirt? </div><div>Me: Uh yeah...it says deplorable...why </div><div>D: Kait wants to borrow it.</div><div>A: Sure- what are you wearing it for? I mean you can’t totally borrow it but it seems like an odd request. </div><div>Kait: I’m thinking of wearing it for the walkout...</div><div>A: You know walking out of school just for the sake of doing it is dumb as fuck right and makes you look silly. </div><div>K: Well, no I don’t think I’m walking out unless it’s FOR letting our teachers arm themselves.</div><div>A: Ok, well I agree with your opinion, but if all you do is stick on a trump or NRA shirt and walk out of school to make your point your proving the stereotype of spoiled hissy-fit-throwing millennial generation. Yes, it might make the news but if people disagree with your viewpoint you will be dismissed as a silly millennial throwing a tantrum. </div><div>K: Yeah that’s true - I probably wont walk out that’s stupid when you put it that way. </div><div>A: I was going to tell you in no uncertain terms will you walk out of school just to throw a fit but I think Im changing my mind - you can joint the walk out....under certain circumstances. </div><div>K: Uh...ok? What</div><div>A: you need to do some research first. The shirt you might choose to wear may or may not be the most relevant choice at this exact moment. </div><div>K: Well I might wear an NRA shirt I don’t know...</div><div>A: I’m not knocking the “Deplorable” shirt, I’m saying you need to go beyond your feelings and know what it is you’re talking about. If your gonna walk out of school and flaunt an unpopular opinion be prepared to have someone question your opinion or the validity of it. </div><div>K: <deer in headlights look></div><div>A: Do this and get back to me: </div><div> 1) Look up deplorable and know what it means both the definition and the pop culture reference </div><div>2) Find out what it stands for in current culture and what that word embodies to people who consider themselves “deplorables” and figure out if those values and beliefs are in line with yours </div><div>3) Figure out why they’re even called “deplorables” who said it and what context they meant it in” </div><div>K: <starts googling> oh- ok, Cool!</div><div>A: Not yet - that’s just preparation not to make yourself look like an asshole when someone asks you why you’re wearing what you’re wearing. </div><div>Now here’s the action part: see, walking out is a great way to get publicity for your opinion for one day but your not actually directly affecting any change (as in a tangible change you can see immediately). If you’re going to expect people to acknowledge your opinions and act on them you also need to act on them. Find something that you can do that will make a difference. Write the school board, write to your congressman, find a lonely kid and really try to be a friend, step up when someone is being bullied and be their advocate even if you’re going against the grain- and do it every day. Find things you can do that have an immediate impact even for just one person AND DO THEM. If you do all of that you can walk out with my support no matter what side of the fence your on. </div><div><br></div><div>Honestly, I still roll my eyes when I think of her walking out of school in any kind of protest, but I guess if that is the trade off for her making an actual tangible change and figuring out why she believes what she believes on her own then it’s worth it...</div><div><br></div><div>I challenge all parents to do the same no matter what your/your children’s beliefs might be. If it’s truly a worthwhile cause you won’t only rally for a day with 500 other like minded people, you’ll work every day to change what you personally can - even when no ones looking. </div><div><br></div><div>We might not need so much gun control or armed teachers if instead we actually cared a little more about our peers and surroundings.</div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_178e_50b6_370_7781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wxMypPSmMugH9IERpqhiXHPRd5c-xzPzNveNk1O6KIWhin1t1T5luXxdoeCDcNayf_e_mkWwl7onmuSwqGk0TkEhYehh2444esGbWhB1yH7yH-H91SgOuJlGX94j8oWKnFsUv1PMMaY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br></div> Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-21098716077325738942018-01-25T22:48:00.001-07:002018-01-25T22:57:17.829-07:00Look Ma...Finally a new Post For the last 8 months I’ve been meaning to get back on here and write a post....hell, at least post pictures. <div><br></div><div>Clearly I haven’t. </div><div>My poor blog seems to have fallen into the same black hole that somehow sucked up all of my free time and energy and clean underwear. (Like, ALL OF THE GODDAMNED UNDERWEAR!) </div><div><br></div><div>Since they’re too young to read this I’ll just blame it on the terrorists for not being funny anymore. </div><div><img id="id_a00_e54f_41e7_749a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjURus-9NKJnt6McYNSZ_Z4-cEWt3djbVpi9i7IBaT0YvKApzprPPRFyKmjMjW6-SBrqXvVZN53xchX4qrwuQSIbG7YcIRyQIwoMn12LRjaDXv-JuyjSKt7mDAqzavWUn82L_h-PKii2Zo/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><br></div><div>In truth they might be a little less funny but mainly they’re just all so goddamned active. </div><div>I was reading through some of my old posts and I remember feeling like I was stuck in a never ending cycle of shitty diapers, tantrums, homework and counting down the days till daddy came home. I didn’t think it could get any more hectic or exhausting. </div><div><br></div><div>I was wrong. </div><div>The kids are less physically demanding but god they’re mentally exhausting. (For instance - I’m currently sitting in the tub trying to wash my ass while calling out spelling words to Jaxon, watching Lannie put on a runway show in my heels, reading a drama piece with Kait and trying to get her competition schedule nailed down) </div><div><img id="id_6908_f828_b85c_ba39" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Tf-Kk9DQXZZM5AEVcgVGnbo2GNaa_0ODqhlJ__fcLkvd6TtnsjkpJ7B8AGa1Wm-QFWl2vbMX77vEsIyRBDqFrnlcbKF60DGJQ-hS6GE2OV8Ips6tesAqwUciQSc1ECuT9kUy6cHv1ZQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_df2_7c87_a39f_fc11" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyoDDbnFXtP-ukhQgceYgdGOb6q5FVHsrriO5qrnpzSgmdWgxGvNIc6rVmCwyvVT-NfW105covthjvibyyDXeBohVDrKo9wtYy3CKfo0G0DDPQ1KHg9ciSV3t-hDvs9AwYPu23zF2YWns/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><br></div><div>Back to the terrorists:</div><div>They’re not cute little drunk midgets with mood swings anymore. They’re like miniature bipolar dictators . Everyone wants to run the fucking show but no one wants to get a damn job and pay some of the bills. </div><div><br></div><div>And the personalities....OHMIGOD THE FUCKING PERSONALITIES! And the homework and the talking and the questions and the practices and the school plays...and the arguing and the fighting. </div><div><br></div><div>Their personalities haven’t changed so much- they’ve just REALLY intensified. Except Kait- she’s like a whole new person ( I’ll get to her later - she deserves her own paragraph)</div><div><br></div><div>Lannie is still an asshole but she’s also morphed into my southern, uptown, old money grandmother. She sleeps with a sleeping mask (every single night), rises about 10:30, douses herself in perfume and lipstick, tells you exactly what she thinks and carries her toys in a coach bag wherever she goes. Yes, she still runs the show and no we don’t fight it anymore. She’s probably the most self sufficient of the bunch...and long as she doesn’t have to get up before brunch. (She also has a 40 year old BFF - like for real) </div><img id="id_1341_d133_1b29_c42e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7X4ogadBscTAYhrrBtUYi3VnuRNjEkoCqIenBK2s-yakYirj_u55COxiOYSKtGzef8KI5Noc_mi4YvMVukKYVPTWh-bdzM_pFZmu_e5fcz0G2orcXkXf-yohWVq83sRRh0RfnlsrKq0/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_3430_d2b9_3e5f_fbe5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheAfS2MT-sNzoQ9lRsR96gJLcHFa1n9Q7nM04ryUMojwb7HzqFDM6fl-H2hYb0P4dGfJQewY63e3mJ32KPEylMVVy2GHjNwTtknRx1lcp_3nAvXz1IslbhumkvlLzKvDfqU6D1BNZWFfM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_4e98_7708_fabd_797" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAZEr12uQw-Q2AIT17GLMfwgb-VeLlVJzO4RhScsiAWbzZb1FhK0jlXu45SpM6jAX8RBOOH-8aADtsavFbK_-v_v-mKOmZP3O-XJKiyBNyaNi4YL6Ts2YiMPji3YqCWCATe2JS6dO-R-c/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_85b_d74a_3ddc_3e7f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQfKH80zLJGEzBIegdl6I4tsxOL4aM36vy7ZgobGeDmsXu2-LEjGZhL_Q-cdOUuEQuRFKq5ydMSGPBCUxzYa9AftiC7kAhIUYcEu-pwpgXl8LTjlMF-f4re0GUo87GPt5I3uo9-WQfe-U/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_cab8_c4f5_41dc_dc45" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YWF8cwXWUuLmVEFTmP0J_7WIFOOf6Hepi_8xrsw4QTIiPW0aNkwAk2JdHN7QhBr9EyTTp1v5saMgo0KTyLIocaGj54g9cpTue9okHW-MfN4xFjUKe9Son3HoL3BAm7pdPM5VNMuHKsY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><div><br></div><div>Jaxon hasn’t changed much - he’s still the sweet, sensitive little man he always was. He’s quit saying weird shit like “I wat to hug your guts” but he still loves unconditionally and blindly even thought his sisters routinely take advantage of that fact. He’s my easy kid in school, but probably the most work at home. He spends about 40% of the time crying because his sisters are harassing him, 30% of the time trying to hit them with hard objects because of the harassment and another 30% of the time doing whatever it was that I told him to stop doing “just one more time” (or shooting nerf guns at the dogs)</div><img id="id_caea_ee0e_2428_f007" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgss5sfT2wOk2cPf8pZsRGwTW1tm3N-p5z4Cxm8sP8uIXeeuX3OhSKdDHdAw6pS08tIbB1WT67BtGH-1pBdmv5W69nKKdZ_a2TFgnLSnaZ5hYu75sFT71_1upALNplQa28Uz5tyed01AIw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_b394_6283_9f52_ea5a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8eOCUDvMHozjEgsUG-ItnSWG3iEY60tyA4cPfk-Le_S_sWeGgy3cZh6OsKW2gICKuzwcSCQDMtByxO8rAbPi0Ri3hzTKU6WqzZKaoVbBhPBt11JSsavea7vFyIOn_w5Lrp0S7tx2xBio/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_8ea9_b4c2_54ef_98a0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QHwXqFn4dA9IX5mtwtDt641rzHpeWN2gjUICUluyjbu9M5jY-iPGss6h_Qer_wNuZ7s8saCOzXFQ6Hsl3rdm5pa05OKJbF1Oz0mZA6SVTkFNXetSC-_2hc68bIQK-RUSHDCkXfe4I6Q/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_d00c_67c2_6d5_3681" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtLGj23Z5qHtwje_wgW9ujoEGM1LgA-tCP1SgyHMGDhhJRCH9Mt39wAIHtW048TyFZHeFlgnVnPyY9Lr5N6loxIzpgpj9djmJlvlClYNx7ahEh3t8kNEZ5jJJaQ7XNY-vbOrmWTaYPrY0/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_66d2_2e84_16b7_1570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx4q-aK4tD7gKskgUf4zmgFmqbfGHtRq5uTsTeucSBWm9QRABjwyUKEtOOs2SPMPawlicXLJmkdO6Sy9-rbZ_IDI387LtpusFVb67naSO5Slxtv7G2K_6W2560ogJKQqEe10VLhLBdm9I/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><div><br></div><div>Kait isn’t really in the same category as the terrrorists anymore. She’s a real person that you can have adult conversations with (most of the time). I dreaded highschool and teen years, but this last year has been almost as much fun as when she was a baby and couldn’t move. </div><div>This year had been a game changer for her. To say she’s grown up and come into her own is an understatement. She lives with us full time now and the difference in her whole personality has been mind blowing. </div><div>Big red is now a freshman in highschool maintaining A’s and B’s, she’s a varsity cheerleader and also on a competition cheer team. She’s outspoken and funny and she’s found this confidence that you can see in her eyes. </div><div><br></div><div>Y’all, she hangs out with us on Saturday nights sometimes -even when she’s not grounded. As a matter of fact I dont think she’s been grounded in over 3 months. (She still can’t cut her own meat at dinner or get up and ready in under 2 hours, but she sort of cleans her own room and is learning to drive. She’s pretty awesome.) </div><img id="id_877_6272_16ab_a2f4" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHXaC6D3eXzb0vV9jAR02aTwrM5cBh4rHNkc6_Rlv8BDoCNx4wtP8H4L9gJWuE3OEls2dDO21ddXKY29kmqHQ99hKU3VwF8k4ZAloOs6UoMuDROGDVqDN6RS1zP5QG5aPPe1Rmhpy8O80/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_89a4_628f_4009_161a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix76jN-m5Qx6iZr-O7wgiD7myR4zfj97cU0-JQ9geAFxVyJ90PzcQSCWYVO3WTQxJeX19AGo1D9ChO1xOAkbjFnhNkWY6L_qcJGtDYQREr5f82RjvzysLYHhK-HLdwu-IMlPbgvo1O3OY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_3ea0_1f3f_e01b_dd5c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSwm0tka1yYZ47_Hx-jSyDG1vdSwiIWhXL-UN2mKIvoQfM4kw_B1DbTq7BnTUCzvoKZty8S3bugSFgTkIbLcq749Edezuqk3VSVssdriBtwQqaPn-ys10Wh3abDW3qEqgUXYR0z7HsRWw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_5856_b37b_62e1_261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYTVynawg8hekJ407dIvlR9NcJwavCGD0aCzDidRKqMJKbVwXrDOiIlc8NvTti6XaXGUFK6m_uAC8V3QteUb037I07TcW-KBfmi5-5akP_yMjwWk9iiwIDNmOSXzoFPRbNFqNHrCOTus/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_b053_17d5_d577_c8d1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5eLvUK2S_jZ5A4XTeQsSXU1xSyHIyrBhcc9TGfQcALx65qmPmFqmNsDQTGIPng3J4Y0DHZNorFnfwegq_uAP4dDsPNq6YM38YnOCHi15_mbpQUwRtC5ToLn_BvtGcDm-DDt9Q_3z-8o/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><div><br></div><div>The husband and I are basically the same, just older and fatter. D still makes it a point to take a 3-hour shit two seconds after I get everyone ready to leave the house and in retaliation I leave all of the lights on when I leave the house. </div><div><img id="id_75f7_490d_9f1f_b8fd" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_uBKLYLyyQUDxgPjBV3l6LhKzZg5M111c5Yi98RbYJbvLfDF_23HFg1mBxjr_Sg1BRaknJ98FGMmumG_fCF5qyzRFlBfe3lvPYM1INOCDGGLZE16d2fdKV9q2JF3irxwQhWSQwVJeekk/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_ad39_1f97_9926_d97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijyqh3etKjjG04qIUbxHA9Z7UAumRsZNTSXmgqvq7wNEFDxgk17XQOkNfE1n3VnKrF69qEod_CtJzQFbYb40OM-HldSDO1t644XgpX_Dqw8aGbnmJ1MetfhEvqf9tsVMkIfqb4ysG29pk/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_9f0b_81ae_fce3_349d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlen1p3xti-BD_z6swqV511pVeFVbgQldRfsRhes_NnFKfUzhyphenhyphenA9APZrc8bt7N2PjodtHVIaVUV4UGQkfAwMUfQsa0_CoLFz5BmNWU20ebm57nwFMFnNFm8W1WbT9DD_xqQ5mFXHjeukY/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_b43_de0_fb23_e87a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvzhINZjWjVCDmooQXdHN7Iu7qu53Kt-l7vccFWMYcrP0jf-Ui48P90WyWt5GcvhEOWZHNxsnX9ZZdR5eKkaGzKVlPYgc1sMKz1_8vIXFjt8GsMJoI4TUL8rDDMJa2AG2rNZnJGa6lkQM/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_505_fc5a_bba5_1474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnEHoG77uFKfJeOU-fJgaNfwT4_rUtVb-xHsIsNhSF2p2MCFiJoj3ikkHHZv1Dw6qM9OeeaSe9vXC7MlJx1Pz1XPMI7EzjFe-dy6Dfg5_3pvNsLpE_OhP81qLaPopS_JNU41mBMqEzrfA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div>I guess that’s basically the run down of 2017. It wasn’t totally amazing or totally awful. </div><div><br></div><div>It’s was....interesting. Full of changes for sure. We’ve had some amazing experiences and some hard ones, but nothing too horrible. 2017 definitely forced us all to lean on one another at different times, but it also showed us just how much we can all depend on each other.</div><div><br></div><div>Looking back on it we’re pretty lucky. Everyone’s still got their original appendages, no one got lost and I didnt even try to sell any of them. </div><div><img id="id_1ab4_fd87_35e9_2285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN72v0L1gmm84KnUkmqxZ5C_WSrGm-53w8DdrWrisL7uZHuBVGxDU_DypEvr9btPemcY-5FM_Ph8yAHZYaoB9HSh4rgXJTaZbSBKtcdADyAltfy09mULOAO-kRRaz8q2YqWE5kRPW98rI/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_2e2b_976f_e8ae_b752" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2txeMNSp1JCW7OfdIIlxgdE_wn7nbg_dNf9urXBgZVI7_o3bGiWC1zeLEbzOsDpCh6iy7tSfX-zgtGeGhrp7GMt-PK-LMrHxZzxerRbVyMCK69ZY3sSKJx8cbpioKyVwlxS9ePtKtf0o/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_cc89_de0f_d5cb_437e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHy32fzsvQNxWpkq1MXNQFtZvxi6kPt2ycRhP01DCQMyHd3itc8E2Kus-qo9xTDMgrHyFyERrZXt2yxCxiu_JUmBsmnFLjJgMVFcwDpIxalHlNS_XINCvNU0S1kQWhUkie976hEDLxKOU/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div>Maybe someone will do something funny in the next 6 months so I can post about it...don’t hold your breath though. I’ll probably miss it while I’m hiding in the shitter eating chocolate looking for some goddamned peace and quiet. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-19298950255437095072017-06-08T02:27:00.001-06:002017-06-08T07:04:57.930-06:00...and here I am peddling my wares Yep....I'm sellin something. <div>Calm down, relax, don't go changing your numbers or removing me from Snapchat just yet.</div><div><img id="id_62a3_e5db_e65b_575d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzeBJw0TVQvshsEjz3Ixw-GHkCXgN_6rnHFKonph5lIdeop2B84oN58FTPFvPgYdRcujHcgIBTTisfvA_D68O4i1OAjqMv37LBLWnQ8Zy18RlXACRaOoB-01SbHa3XYOCypGONLlkv8E/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 128px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: right; display: block;"> <br></div><div>I'm not asking you to host a party, or come try on my leggings or telling you you're fat so you should wrap some shit on those dimples. </div><div><br></div><div>Well not yet...actually not ever. </div><div><br></div><div>I don't plan on having parties or guilting anyone into buying a $600 dollar knife set (although I do have one and it's worth every penny and I can totally hook you up with a guy...) </div><div><br></div><div>Really, there are only a few people who should feel obligated to buy whatever I chuck at their faces- only one really. (If your name rhymes with Fawna, Lawna, Tawna....you know who you are... Oh, to hell with it- SHAUNA this is you, but I'll get to you later. In person, so it's harder to say no) </div><div><br></div><div>Seriously though- that's totally not what this blog post is about. Not really.</div><div>I did decide to jump into a new "business" and I will be the seller of some shit. </div><div><br></div><div>Jeezus, I can feel your eyes rolling already- and my first response is to tell most of you to fuck off. </div><div><br></div><div>Why? </div><div><br></div><div>Well, Because I am the proud owner of leggings, vitamins, shakes, dildos, pizza stones, jewelry, and more candle wax than fucking yankee candle company; that's why. </div><div><br></div><div>Also, because I'm not trying to sell you any shit- at least not yet. (But I will SHAUNA and MIRIAM and HEATHER and JESSICA.and COURTNEY...oh, I know it's been a while for some of you ladies, but I haven't forgotten the purse parties or the time you laughed at my eyebrows Jessica.)</div><div><img id="id_5bc4_9f3d_8b1f_7c4d" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwXiMZuILHsuVq80vzmTKPUV5byhyIBWjRM3RGPFIarwnWX4LAIVqBlefJe9SVljNiCUYeJ-OJlrrZrCavWVQqvGlqjGhpakGxKQxOssb_u8KSsRsyGHzKtI9ypBN0RwxF5FT_vdeSsa4/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 86px; height: auto;"> <br></div><div><img id="id_6915_50ee_f89b_b4e6" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOP3gPdM13sYCmpmds1xeCechdoY-P4gwoaP5R0aSZr4zVFZ8yAp_qcLAkBGlUySe5Fch2eDJC4uF2DamJxFYpTA2yHEQ0ymgwIAbu2FnWAwej_QxP_Ih3jxp8uH77NaWP0Ms8c_XtQUs/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 81px; height: auto;"> <br></div><img id="id_7d87_dc8a_f2af_66ca" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQZPU4EVTzEBR1oi5RIImYSo7-i7Wj5jS7y8t2Ak80G14MoJkTyqvi31nJo0JhXKzXRGM1O2wVIm_yHsh93nZfehBdWm51mXnEnRG-1gB5yR0QBHi0dHGR-8DsKXclbgq-zxtdGYkZKw0/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 81px; height: auto;"> <br><img id="id_aa76_ee69_11ec_1a23" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikEdo0Y3jA8dHb-RukayD8bJurC1jdMDNNHV99BC7os8XVgnk6Ls9iumD3Iolqy81FRCMuMUsJIHvWtsQjYwX5NePHG2ZZ6WJpkomPYff346tGaNjswNgCoG1b3UpLKxymp8Go9cTFZYw/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 82px; height: auto;"> <br><div><img id="id_9b2e_bee8_e079_9689" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqAPXKHxtKwcJcH3-PHbQ9nmj8YeW5UgRkITFHW17R2rWMX36XsuGnFB7ScgwlFsLQqoZ_qMezfRXrmYU6oKhYyhbmcVDv3xZNqmzER9QuUtBXRyvalNYxE-Urn25g5T9OPriPLT6RNu8/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 82px; height: auto;"> <br></div><div>(I disguised the suspects but I'll totally take you off if you want me to) </div><div><br></div><div>Back to my point....</div><div><br></div><div>I initially planned on becoming just a customer of my "cool-as-shit cousin Meg, but as usual I called an audible at the last minute and became a SB or a TP or a PPIQ or whatever letters they use to refer to "the chick that can get the shit and take your money". (<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If your wondering.....no, those letters do not contain the letter c. You know for consultant....but whatever.)</span><br><div><div><div><br></div><div>At this point I can pretty much feel Meg cringing (from 800 miles away)and telling me I'm a BP and for the love of all things holy please stop calling it shit. (She's my boss-ish but she can't actually fire me so I'll be calling it shit for the rest of this post if you're wondering)</div><div><br></div><img id="id_24da_f291_1eee_ee2e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPqttbqCilEbhwKneHQpGojgDi5107Z_lM-MnNU8HDZQKanEMFDRBBtyvfyEyRxA1v6nVrUmcIvahuhr8GmaVZKIc0AApDc5lFPmn2uIzD3cwcGt522a4veK0ezdCPQBDRERjUhC04GU/" alt=""The dealer" " title="" tooltip="" style="width: 184px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: right; display: block;"> <div>Back to my elusive point:</div><div>Meg is a BP (or SP or PPIP or some shit) for Rodan and Fields. That is the shit I keep referring to...although I don't really think it's shit. (I would assume by now any of you reading this understand that shit is essentially my word for stuff or items. You know, just like terrorists and assholes are my words for children) </div><div><br></div><div>Well anyway, Meg is my sponsor (we'll call her my dealer for now because it's more interesting) and she has asked me to write "my why" for joining R&F. So that's the point of all this. </div><div><br></div><div>You know the drill..... </div><div>The dealer is the keeper of the shit, so you do what the dealer wants to get the shit.</div><div>....this means I'm gonna have to write an acceptable and mainly politically correct "why" for the people that don't know me. </div><div><br></div><div>In order to offset the mental anguish of writing an entire paragraph without the word fuck I decided bring the real shit to my blog....where I can curse and call people dealers and make you laugh all while explaining why I decided to sell this. </div><div><br></div><div>It's pretty simple - fucking zits and holy shit wrinkles that don't go away when I quit making the "for the love of god pick up the goddamn toys" face. </div><div><br></div><div>Really that's it. You can quit reading now - you know the reason. </div><div><br></div><div>But......If you're still paying attention I'll elaborate. </div><div>I have the skin of a pubescent boy- AT ALMOST 40 FUCKING YEARS OLD! Not the perks tho....I don't have the collagen of a pubescent boy. I have the collagen of a 36 year old smoker which means I have fucking wrinkles under zits! What in the actual fuck!?!?!</div><div><br></div><div>Know what else I have? </div><div>-Baskets and drawers and bags full of shit to slather on my asshole skin. </div><div>-Dermatologist appointments Coming out of my ass....</div><div>-9,567,345 Walgreens points from all of the prescriptions for the slathering shit</div><div>And a standing Botox appointment to paralyze my face so it wont get any worse while I'm not paying attention</div><div><br></div><div>Check it out:</div><div>These are just a few pics of my stash:</div><div><img id="id_9824_a20b_807_b44a" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUIKHDUyl-PLgG5BZV7PTf86a6wkXESkJinH7PeIlND9dBkNw041Tru_R6PLCPjcODcobr77HQuLGkDfO-i7JCQmdiK4Y-fmf6JyZ_SRVVeuDOtMWjkJ2UUiBhFmGyYLH-emY7cF5y-34/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 119px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: right; display: block;"> <br></div><img id="id_4871_8d08_95cb_f4bf" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzF-OzXO9ANpXx4_CIi1597_N9_hzJITEN-MMuIOi7FdiZLT5oOJ4fU-VnHOZngynWj20-Z5paw1r9ypfe_E1RiHhDpBYqrNgyR6t54q_TF-98nCQDTxl37gsLV9xtq8T4VBg3nFC3ccU/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 152px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: left; display: block;"> <div><br></div><div>Got a rare fungal infection from the jungles of Africa that causes boils? I've prob got a steroid for that.... </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><img id="id_2df4_9b66_ff3d_9c12" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYMomVgI55YDjt6dma96V5ptArIwPbFvJP8r3XsOtpLJMrMRC2Y2i8M1RA92J_iIhhyphenhyphenApMOAO9SeHhXKr0ySnIjTmWbCHjaqHMh9CaDXtULoFsnmuM2_tnzMXQLEF_lbcmoFChFiiUiFA/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 133px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: left; display: block;"> <div><br></div><div>None of it really works completely and I'm losing my fucking patience. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>The tiny terrorist is still a dick and making things worse if you were wondering....She told me a few weeks ago that I needed to get on proactive for my "spots". She even tried to sell me on their new face mask!!! (She has also reminded me about proactive no less than twice a week since.)</div><img id="id_a0c_2bdc_503d_84fe" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihajf0UgRIYTjyjh_MUCA67EVcYyD_Ju8wpHxhyphenhyphenpaKLVYv1X9sLFSK7WRw8I3G306RdQeBDBQ4V693FZvXAC37JVa_19b73XQYLs7cGKGGSmAJMxWsraXRwO7m_VsnX9N_nY6w0y9NLl0/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 256px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: right; display: block;"> <div><br></div><div><br></div><div> I know she means well but she's 4 for fucks sake! </div><div><br></div><div>That brings me to two weeks ago. </div><div>I decided to go back to the only thing that has ever worked for me and gotten rid of my acne completely- Accutane. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div>The side effects are pretty harsh: dry skin and lips, decreased night vision, ingrown toenails, giant headed fetuses, depression, suicide and liver damage. (Yeah I totally said giant-headed fetuses....look that shit up) </div><div><br></div><div> I've survived them before.... there's also still the damn four year old counting my spots. </div><div>So, off I went to the dermatologist. He agreed to write the script and I was on my way. </div><div><br></div><div>Until I hit the Walgreens. </div><div>$285 for a prescription that will cure my zits for 30 days and may or may not cause me to blow my head off even if the zits go away. </div><div>Surprise!!! My insurance doesn't cover the cost because I'm too old for acne. </div><div>Thanks Aetna! I fucking think so too....maybe you could have a pep talk with my fucking face. </div><div>$285 is a problem because .that totally eats up my $300 Botox budget (shut up- yes I have a Botox budget) </div><div><br></div><div>Since I couldn't decide which was worse (zits or wrinkles) I just shit-canned both. </div><div><br></div><div>That's where my dealer Meg comes in. She's been using the same shit and her face looks AMAZING. I asked her all about it and did no research and jumped right in. </div><div><br></div><div>It was cheaper than the giant-fetus-head meds and lasts longer than the botox, plus there is a empty bottle refund guarantee. </div><div><br></div><div>It def. can't be worse than my other 2 options right? </div><div>(I've since done a little research and it actually looks really promising.)</div><div><br></div><div>So there's my why- vanity and my asshole kid (and I really hate having to wear make up to cover my skin...so laziness too) </div><div><br></div><div>I'm supposed to put a pic of my why, but my skin is a shit show so I'm refusing for now. Instead here's a really cute picture of me with all kinds of flattering filters. (I have taken a pic and will post it with my results later on when I'm talking you into buying my shit.... )</div><img id="id_fba2_7cff_a115_a939" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKprsDYjVoSqlzdrti0YVOom0l7k2iu-ZtyGdsjmZoUnngWj-qPlC9CGfNX7ARbT6nM8MY1nENZ2diemAXDuZrBNw76TpstmIxPZl9NE_JjvD8-hHkkV3gbhe6b3onIDoEgwGIQ-UdZ0s/" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 287px; height: auto; margin: 4px; float: right; display: block;"> <div><br></div><div>Until then check out my FB post for some of the amazing products and results that other people have had. </div><div><br></div><div>That's it for now. Wish me luck! </div> </div><a href="https://ayaste.myrandf.com/">https://ayaste.myrandf.com/</a></div></div><div><br></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-15548466504034817092017-04-10T14:04:00.001-06:002017-04-10T15:39:00.338-06:00I'm a Giant Douche (I Even Have My Own Flute)I finally did it - I decided to stop smoking (and actually moved beyond the saying it part and jumped right into doing it..sort of....so far....)<br />
<span id="goog_501909698"></span><span id="goog_501909699"></span><br />
Go ahead with your stroke or convulsion.<br />
I'll wait....<br />
<br />
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I initially quit cold turkey, but two days into it I felt like a fucking lunatic and the poor hubs was seconds away from locking me in the basement or knocking me out. With good reason.<br />
See, in addition to just being a typical moody dick with no nicotine I raised the bar a bit and became a complete asshole-douchebag-shitface-demon-lady.<br />
<br />
I literally got up from taking a NAP to yell at the husband for putting the dishes away too loudly. <br />
SERIOUSLY, I DID THAT. I AM A GIANT DOUCHE! <br />
As he looked at me in confusion and disbelief I saw a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. Looking back on it now I'm sure he was shocked at my outburst and he was trying to figure out what the fuck to say to the crazy lady in his kitchen. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back when I still smoked - look how happy we both are</td></tr>
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Unfortunately, the nicotine deprived monster bitch in my body saw that as a smile - and that meant he was laughing at me!!! At that moment I wanted to claw his eyes out with every fiber in my being. I was sane enough to walk away and know that I was being a giant douche-canoe for no reason. My saint of a husband didn't <br />
even get angry or call me a giant douche-canoe. He simply kept on putting the dishes away while I stomped off to be angry. (Because clearly there is nothing worse than someone else doing your dishes and putting them away too loudly.... (Yeah, I'm a total dick)<br />
<br />
Poor D endured another day of this shit show (and never once called me a bad name or pushed me down the stairs)<br />
By day two even I had to admit I was being a giant horse's ass so I accepted defeat and headed to the gas station for a pack of smokes. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't deserve his kind of goodness</td></tr>
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I have no idea what possessed me to stop at the vape shop instead, but I did, and before I knew it I was talking to some kid about flavor juice and nicotine content and coil packs and all kinds of douche-y shit that made my eyes roll up into my skull. It felt like time had reversed and I was once again the 13 year old who just started smoking. Not knowing what I was doing or if I was making a damn fool of myself. If that isn't bad enough I went ahead and bought my very own vape pen (or douche cigar as I call it). Now I get to admit I'm a "vaper"... like all those 20-something idiot millennials I usually make fun of. <br />
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In the past (when I still had my self-respect) whenever I came across a "vaper" you could literally hear my eyes rolling. <br />
<br />
Now that's me...the one hiding over there in a corner sucking fruit-flavored non-smoke just so I don't force my husband into stabbing me 78 times in the face because of my shitty attitude.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I don't know if I can truly call it quitting with the whole nicotine infused cluster fuck contraption, but I'm no longer setting shit on fire and inhaling the smoke... It's at least a step in the right direction...in every way except my image. <br />
<br />
I am making progress. It's been 8 days so far and I've been fairly successful. I've cheated a few times, but the stars must have aligned for me because they tasted horrible and each one got worse. I miss enjoying my smokes but the cravings for a physical cigarette and the action of smoking it are starting to go away.<br />
<br />
I've tried to quit twice in the past and I only lasted 2 days and 48 minutes....I'm at motherfucking-eight-days! (I'm also cheap and this douche cigar cost me $80 bucks so I'm gonna use it till it dies or blows my teeth right outta my head)<br />
<br />
I think the hardest part in quitting for me is that I still really liked my cigarettes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0c9UgwM2UD8VnwaCJ9tI1Aclpm4pH5kYF3YS0s-7p9TUJDX9Qq_UFXh7MfM7XnCyb3Fcnhauf2EoHjerXy_qJA51tvFB013ywbOiKvqqvDMADhyphenhyphenuSChFTz8J4xuQrhoHpzhaEIPIqo9Q/s1600/12118998_10153648449197357_6472817336134996569_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0c9UgwM2UD8VnwaCJ9tI1Aclpm4pH5kYF3YS0s-7p9TUJDX9Qq_UFXh7MfM7XnCyb3Fcnhauf2EoHjerXy_qJA51tvFB013ywbOiKvqqvDMADhyphenhyphenuSChFTz8J4xuQrhoHpzhaEIPIqo9Q/s320/12118998_10153648449197357_6472817336134996569_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I even made smoking look artsy fartsy fancy</td></tr>
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<br />
I never got tired of the taste, or resentful of the cost - I enjoyed my smokes and the many quiet breaks my smoking habit afforded me. <br />
<br />
I never really wanted to quit in truth.<br />
I wasn't "<b>DONE</b>" or sick or angry. <br />
I wish I could be like other people who get fed up with it all. They get to the point that they don't enjoy the taste or the smell or the ritual. <br />
<br />
Not me.<br />
I crave everything about cigarettes; the taste, the smell, the feel of taking a drag, 7 minutes of silence while i smoke in the garage (it's my special place where no kids are allowed - it's attached to the house where the terrorists reside with their teenhole sister, 3 dogs, a cat and god knows what else slips in unnoticed) <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP23QRbcPRIeOynK4Ls8MHbJs4-nYiIBP_X8wQxDvjfbaKIchsASn8hq1mj8y3U1dHExK2-rnhPgmgDZ24kRvjg-_YiamOQW3k7w2C1mG7sg-c7A5CLVgUdCSwPZSw-Y0mOgTYYILz-r4/s1600/vape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP23QRbcPRIeOynK4Ls8MHbJs4-nYiIBP_X8wQxDvjfbaKIchsASn8hq1mj8y3U1dHExK2-rnhPgmgDZ24kRvjg-_YiamOQW3k7w2C1mG7sg-c7A5CLVgUdCSwPZSw-Y0mOgTYYILz-r4/s320/vape.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
Even now, after having two cigarettes that tasted like garbage I still miss my damn smokes. <br />
<i style="font-weight: bold;">"I know I could enjoy them again if I just give it 3 days and a pack of Marlborough Lights" </i>(That was my actual though after realizing the taste wasn't as good anymore...)<br />
<br />
I didn't quit because I wanted to. <br />
I didn't quit because I want to be more active with my kids. <br />
I didn't quit because I wanted to save money and I didn't quit because it was currently affecting my health. <br />
<br />
I've been smoking for 23 years. I never felt bad about it really. For quite a few of those years I was active in sports, working out and even running. I'd smoke before the gym and smoke after the gym...hell I was up and smoking a cigarette as soon as the epidural wore off after having each of my kids. I was a super dedicated and overachieving smoker. <br />
<br />
So why did I quit?<br />
I quit because I'm terrified. I have lost 3 important people in my life in the last 5 months to lung cancer alone and there's another one battling it now. (Every one of them was a smoker. Two of them quit more than a decade ago.)<br />
It gets better...Have I mentioned my stellar genetics?<br />
The Moms has had cancer 3 times,<br />
My dad died of cancer (and stupidity),<br />
Both grandfathers had cancer (one of them had 2 different types I think),<br />
An uncle had some other kind of cancer. <br />
And this is only in my immediate family. <br />
<br />
I'm playing with losing odds and I'm terrified. (Clearly, I'm also a REALLY fucking slow learner)<br />
<br />
I'm finally angry enough to quit. <br />
I'm angry that even though I'm going through this whole shit show of quitting smoking it could very well be for nothing. I might end up just like my friends. <br />
I'm angry that this controlled me for so long and that I allowed it to put me in this predicament (I didn't even get a diamond or a car for this commitment). <br />
I'm angry that I won't really know if I've caused irreparable damage until it's too late.<br />
I'm angry that I did this willingly and knowingly.<br />
I'm especially angry that I now look like a fucking ass-hat sucking on my douchey $80 vape pen so I don't lose my shit over chores I don't have to do.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what I do now....awesome</td></tr>
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But I'm succeeding...at least that's what I tell myself. It's been 8 days and I've only had a few smokes. I've spent all but a few evenings in the company of smokers and even managed to have a few drinks and not smoke a cigarette. <br />
<br />
I don't crave a cigarette first thing in the morning anymore and the smell is actually starting to bother me; not entice me.<br />
<br />
I'm not even using the douche pen as often as I was in the beginning.<br />
I'm giving myself the remainder of this bottle of nicotine infused pina colada flavored heaven then I'll quit the douche stick too....hopefully.<br />
<br />
Before I get too sure of myself ....I do have a back up plan in case that doesn't work and I start torturing Big D again..<br />
(I'll step down to a lower dose of nicotine and then move to the juice with no nicotine of I still have issues - 4 more weeks max hopefully....maybe?)<br />
<br />
For the love of god if any of you see me still sucking on this stupid contraption in June light me on fire and kick me down a hill or stairs - I'll deserve it.<br />
<br />
Lastly, I'll just put a blanket apology out here now: I'm sorry if I'm a giant dick-hole to any of you. I don't really hate your face. Just give me a few weeks or slap a nicotine patch on my forehead and come back in 15 minutes.<br />
<br />
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<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-17196148477466373112017-03-09T14:53:00.002-07:002017-03-10T14:40:31.549-07:00I say Bad Things To Innocent People....but I saved more than 5% by using a coupon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday I called a complete stranger a motherfucker...kind of....for something that I knew wasn't her fault. <br />
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<br />
I feel kind of like a dick but I hope the message makes it to its intended recipient. Normally I'm a letter writer (see <a href="http://slackermommy1.blogspot.com/2016/02/the-kidnapping-room.html" target="_blank">The Kidnapping Room</a>) and normally I'm a little more eloquent that just throwing out the mother fucker bomb, but yesterday I lost my shit completely.<br />
<i>(For once it wasn't directed at the terrorists or Big Red)</i><br />
<br />
There is a silver lining to this story though...one I'll pass on to the rest of my over charged friends...<br />
<br />
So, Big Red has had a cold for the last 5 days and it just isn't getting better. Yesterday, the diva terrorist woke up with a sore throat and a fever too.... I admitted defeat and took the day off and began scheduling appointments. (I won't even go into the nightmare it is to try and get same day appoints because that tangent will undoubtedly cause me to swear even more.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is sick big red hanging in there</td></tr>
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<br />
Anyway, fast forward to 4:00PM yesterday. Both girls are getting swabs jammed up their nose and we are preparing to hear that the flu test is negative and the usual:<br />
<br />
"Thanks for the $60 copay. It's just a cold and we don't give medicine for that anymore. Call us back if the fever persists for more than 605 days or if it spikes so high you child has febrile seizures. Ooooh, don't forget this paper I printed you!! It recommends honey which you probably could have googled on your own. Oh, and don't forget that $60 copay for my magical paper printing skills"<br />
<br />
As a side note - if you're a doctor and I'm paying a copay to see you for the love of god give me a prescription of something! Anything really. I saw a lady yesterday at Walgreen's who turned in a prescription for vitamin C pills or something for a cold. Apparently they have special ones behind the counter that don't require a prescription you just have to ask for them specifically. That doctor has it right! He knew he was taking a fee for seeing that lady and essentially giving her nothing in return. Instead of letting her leave feeling like she wasted her time and money he wrote on his little pad and gave her a tangible product in return for his fee. She could have gotten the same thing without his prescription but when they told her that and gave her the pills she wasn't mad and didn't complain. She just said, well at least I got a prescription this time....<br />
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<br />
But I digress...<br />
Back to the girls and their booger tests. <br />
This time they came back positive. <br />
<br />
My first thought was "Woo Hoo! I didn't come here for nothing"<br />
which quickly switched to<br />
"SON of A BITCH they live with me and they touch all of my stuff! Oh hell...I think Lannie licked me yesterday. Oh god she licks her brother even more. Fuck, we're all getting the flu."<br />
<br />
In an effort to condense this a little....they were both confirmed with the flu and we finally got some meds. Big Red was too far gone for any flu therapy so she got codeine cough syrup (Thank you Jesus for codeine) Tiny Terrorist and Boy Terrorist got Tamiflu which should greatly reduce Lannie's symptoms and prevent Boy Terrorist's all together. It was a long but successful day up until this point.<br />
<br />
Then came Walgreens. I should have sensed the dread when I saw people in line and heard that the wait for IN STOCK meds was over 2 hours. <br />
<br />
I took my spot in line and waited with the anticipation of a child waiting their turn to ride the summer's newest roller coaster. Only when my turn came and that roller coaster car pulled up it was full of vomit and turds and one of the wheels had fallen off.<br />
<br />
OK, not really, but that's what it felt like until the OHMIGOD WHAT THE FUCK feeling was replaced by a seething rage (that's what made me call that lady a mother fucker).<br />
<br />
See, when I got to the line the pharmacist man took my script (the one for the codeine cough syrup - the Dr. had automatically called in the Tamiflu) and proceeded to do something with the computer then looked at me and said "Oh the two for Tamiflu are already ready - I'll just have them move this to the front and we'll get you out of here in about 10 minutes. Do you have your insurance card? The tamiflu is kind of expensive, I want to make sure we get the right price"<br />
<br />
"Well shit, I won the Walgreen's lottery" thought I, and I braced for a $50 or $60 bill for my meds (maybe even $80). What I did not brace for was a FIVE HUNDRED and SIXTEEN FUCKING DOLLAR total for ONLY THE 2 prescriptions of Tamiflu.<br />
(He said <b><i>kind of expensive</i></b>, not <i><b>donate-your-fucking-kidney-expensive</b></i>, which would have been much more appropriate and accurate. Yes, I shared this bit of knowledge with him)<br />
He did his best to help me- he tried pricing the Tamiflu in pill form (the DR. wrote the script for liquid because of their age) generic liquid, the generic capsules everything he could think of, but nothing came in under like $300.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwktf0i3dmC-aUo5g2VOas-q8KOYNCte-vWf0v39n8DScbR4edcheQbp7E72JSjynI4eKnWU8EhyJZHGrpkV2NaAdayQ7zlQSfobzhbx2UwrrQUsabuk6Qq_6J2xIa8Q3w9qKGnJocpqQ/s1600/download.jpe" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" id="id_4c3_b913_652c_44e" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwktf0i3dmC-aUo5g2VOas-q8KOYNCte-vWf0v39n8DScbR4edcheQbp7E72JSjynI4eKnWU8EhyJZHGrpkV2NaAdayQ7zlQSfobzhbx2UwrrQUsabuk6Qq_6J2xIa8Q3w9qKGnJocpqQ/s1600/download.jpe" style="height: auto; width: 276px;" /></a></div>
<br />
At this point I'm not truly freaking out yet. I'm still thinking something was entered wrong. After a 2 calls to my insurance company and 30 minutes with the pharmacist I realized that in fact there was no error. The insurance I pay almost a $1000 a month for "doesn't recognize Tamiflu as a Preferred Med" not because there is a cheaper alternative...because they don't recognize the generic as preferred either. <br />
<br />
Just fucking because...that's why. Seriously that was the answer the insurance lady gave me. "Well we just don't have Tamiflu on out list"<br />
What that means in my situation is that I first have to meet a $700 deductible per person then they will cover 85% of the cost.<br />
<br />
That's when I lost my shit with the poor insurance lady. It's all kind of fuzzy but I think at that point I asked her to explain what my $1000 dollars a month was for. Who was the motherfucker who got to decide that my kid could just deal with the flue for 6 days instead of get a medication? I also asked her how in the hell I was supposed to keep my job that provided their shitty insurance after the aforementioned 3 children got the flu consecutively and I had to say home for two weeks. Then I oh so eloquently asked her to find that person and give them a big fuck you from me and to send me their address so I could send my contagious kids to his house and he could handle them. (She was actually very sorry she couldn't do anything or at least that's what her script had her say. But at least she didn't hang up on me. <br />
<br />
I got to press my hang up button all mean like and end the call on my terms....<br />
<br />
I left the store furious, defeated and without the Tamiflu. <br />
Even worse, I felt like a total failure as a parent because I had chosen not to give them medicine because of the cost.<br />
<br />
When I go home I decided to do some research. My intent was to look into mail order pharmacy out of the US. (if you haven't ever looked into it it is an actual option. It's much cheaper, but do your homework on the pharmacy first) <br />
<br />
Anyway, I came across a website called <a href="http://www.goodrx.com/">WWW.GOODRX.COM</a>. (If you haven't used it or been there SAVE this link. They even have an app - put it on your phone.)<br />
<br />
This app gives you coupon with a GROUP, BIN & PCN number. It allows the pharmacy to put it in like insurance and you get the reduced cost. It can't be combined with your insurance discount, but in this case the difference was astronomical. I paid $58 per prescription. I saved $200 dollars by not using my high priced already paid for insurance. Pfft.....<br />
(I did also have to go to the CDC website and get instructions for creating an oral suspension with the capsules and chocolate sauce - ask me if you ever need to know - It's safe and easy.)<br />
<br />
So, I came out OK in all of this and I hope it helps you too if you ever need it.<br />
<br />
Here are the cost differences from my plan's website and the Good RX coupon:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_b7c7_2fcd_55cd_2d93" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXA_R7kW-D2ft_TZAiWJeLbA0TlVKJsOSyla7oBjEi1WGwWZrTmUxmMU5sQ4WjlhLeB4Qd8XF6Yj3y8Bsb29tyitiT4Ovw8mmE5Li4gpM7atbFES5PX_OIN7N2yImQOUbvpeSfh1tN6U4/s1600/Suspension_W_Ins.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="131" id="id_3725_f9d_770c_31af" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXA_R7kW-D2ft_TZAiWJeLbA0TlVKJsOSyla7oBjEi1WGwWZrTmUxmMU5sQ4WjlhLeB4Qd8XF6Yj3y8Bsb29tyitiT4Ovw8mmE5Li4gpM7atbFES5PX_OIN7N2yImQOUbvpeSfh1tN6U4/s320/Suspension_W_Ins.png" style="height: auto; width: 320px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brand Name Suspension WITH Insurance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_ade3_5dcc_9657_7f1f" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOR_nU7r_mIAsRkbdGxkRPUn9JwUqn1Ri5cyKFYH20S64MUs6R_1U1L1qv_YYy85v1Y_Ur9_bKX9B7JPyEP9JUNBH28wk6yf5Nt0bqPRG-0IjcdXFN1EYmcih8h-N07xQEypq8N1Yzg4/s1600/TAMIFLU_pill_w+ins.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="134" id="id_efa8_b579_184f_12b8" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOR_nU7r_mIAsRkbdGxkRPUn9JwUqn1Ri5cyKFYH20S64MUs6R_1U1L1qv_YYy85v1Y_Ur9_bKX9B7JPyEP9JUNBH28wk6yf5Nt0bqPRG-0IjcdXFN1EYmcih8h-N07xQEypq8N1Yzg4/s320/TAMIFLU_pill_w+ins.png" style="height: auto; width: 320px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brand Name Pill WITH Insurance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_a560_ca42_7e8b_2a90" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-HL54ClOVsEiBXMGJH9toIH3KERr390GiBjRC0Ty7hRDR4W24AlaxWyX56BnLXscm_4QfZ0fvvtZN7-1n_sLdxsK_gBPQnuJ9s4Ec0cJfROPSjvPzeK9JRi1vp0fx8YzS1obFUAKu5E/s1600/generic_cap_w+ins.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136" id="id_f0eb_8360_17ba_9b0f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-HL54ClOVsEiBXMGJH9toIH3KERr390GiBjRC0Ty7hRDR4W24AlaxWyX56BnLXscm_4QfZ0fvvtZN7-1n_sLdxsK_gBPQnuJ9s4Ec0cJfROPSjvPzeK9JRi1vp0fx8YzS1obFUAKu5E/s320/generic_cap_w+ins.png" style="height: auto; width: 320px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Generic Capsule WITH Insurance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" id="id_ae4e_d9eb_bce5_2b79" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkemoQai2vO47g4oDQpjo8VmrUTkLGS8JZhKtC8txcerHE5qzRlLMO4VCBntD5vRz3I0v0OE0EbX9VoQ_p-Dg50LMjSGSkeVbCDA1I5wU7gaW1h57QHBnwDwQsgo-nuWC2V7se2Fi3q80/s1600/GoodRX.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="107" id="id_2b87_1af9_9404_249f" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkemoQai2vO47g4oDQpjo8VmrUTkLGS8JZhKtC8txcerHE5qzRlLMO4VCBntD5vRz3I0v0OE0EbX9VoQ_p-Dg50LMjSGSkeVbCDA1I5wU7gaW1h57QHBnwDwQsgo-nuWC2V7se2Fi3q80/s320/GoodRX.png" style="height: auto; width: 320px;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GoodRx Coupon cost with NO Insurance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Now here's my bitch:<br />
We don't need more government insurance availability. Not multiple government run and required plans. <br />
<br />
What we need is an overhaul of the costs of care not the plans. There's no reason why anyone (the pharmacy, the insurance carrier or ME) should pay $258 for a fucking pill that costs 80% less than that to make. I have specialized meds that cost $28 THOUSAND dollars a month. That's ONE shot a month. My insurance covers a good portion of it , but my end cost is still like $5K a month. Now the company that manufacturers the drug provides a prescription assistance card to anyone that requests it and has private insurance coverage. That card magically covers the rest of the cost ($5K) <br />
<br />
Tell me how in the world they can give that discount to everyone who applies if their cost isn't inflated by 900%.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm getting off my soapbox now, but take a look at the website - I'll be checking that shit any time a med is over $15 with my insurance.<br />
<br />
As a side note if there is a doctor out there that's willing to see me for $30 cash (same as my current co-pay) and write my prescriptions I'd be be interested in meeting you and being forever grateful (or baking you cookies or some shit).<br />
Then I can dump the high priced ins. and get my scrips from GoodRX<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-58464240772865742682016-12-15T10:45:00.000-07:002017-01-13T15:19:36.792-07:00Cow-Popsicles<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Landry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>An open letter to the the keepers of the cows and the stackers of the hay bales @ the "Cow Farm" on CR38 in Mead:</b></span></div>
<br />
For the love of everything holy please move some of the hay bales along the north side of the pens!<br />
<br />
The hay bales are blocking Landry's view of <b>"Her Cows" </b><span class="text_exposed_show"></span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show">
<i>(not sure who decided to go into the ranching business with a 4yo
without telling her mother but she assures me those are in fact <b>HER
COWS</b>)</i></span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<br />
Anyway...because of
the aforementioned hay bales Landry isn't able to complete full visual
check on her herd as we drive to and from daycare. <br />
<br />
The current
weather conditions and her inability to see all of "<b>Her Cows</b>" has lead Landry to believe that they are in immediate danger of becoming
"cow-popsicles" (<i>her words</i>) and we must act at once to protect her
bovine investment....<br />
<br />
Did I mention Landry is 4? <br />
<br />
Did I mention that her idea of protecting her/your cows is buying them all hoodies....<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXKVkRVY_QS1anx2LRCoi7Uqz10GRSTvbLbfR65KcaXOOj0hSIFng98mkrdMyhFZ7lwfxhxWHrlVt1WwxZ06hRUrCvxaNLs-hbR6lEqI7QV8vIcqs8CEzJsGDwJEHkGFemuwtIoVQ8V2s/s1600/15541116_10210479170409529_5390593510254488818_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXKVkRVY_QS1anx2LRCoi7Uqz10GRSTvbLbfR65KcaXOOj0hSIFng98mkrdMyhFZ7lwfxhxWHrlVt1WwxZ06hRUrCvxaNLs-hbR6lEqI7QV8vIcqs8CEzJsGDwJEHkGFemuwtIoVQ8V2s/s200/15541116_10210479170409529_5390593510254488818_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>I have no clue where to get a cow hoodie and even if I did that's like
800 cow hoodies - I can't afford that and you don't have the time to be
dressing 800 cows in Elsa sweatshirts. (Yes, Elsa from
frozen....because if she's choosing the sweatshirts they will most
definitely be frozen themed....probably bedazzled too)<br />
<br />
<br />
So in the
spirit of Christmas can we maybe just add a few viewing holes....I don't
even know how to argue with a 4-year old who wants to dress a shit ton
of cows....and she gets seriously pissed when I laugh at her.<br />
<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-46553386845934582752016-10-12T17:52:00.000-06:002016-10-18T09:13:32.433-06:00"Welcome to Our Home...Please Kill My Dog"<span style="font-size: x-small;">**Note: Russ AKA: The Russ That Killed Libby did elaborate...see below for details that I forgot.</span><br />
<br />
I'm almost 14 years into this human-raising thing and the majority of the time I feel like I've got this shit down.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8OCnaR7_18oNQKsnTIFQCsoNWvjNQtcEfX7c5mAYInfpm-C2GG2gIsJQc0II9rAEkxOhLsMM89jQNyN9cd7EZF4d-F7Z9ffa__HKW2jGP2WsTI_g0QGFOerkORqPKQ62as9An4tiweM/s1600/Parenting-Meme-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8OCnaR7_18oNQKsnTIFQCsoNWvjNQtcEfX7c5mAYInfpm-C2GG2gIsJQc0II9rAEkxOhLsMM89jQNyN9cd7EZF4d-F7Z9ffa__HKW2jGP2WsTI_g0QGFOerkORqPKQ62as9An4tiweM/s320/Parenting-Meme-3.jpg" width="320" /></a>I didn't say:<br />
<i>I have this shit down </i><br />
<i>or </i><br />
<i>I've got this </i><br />
<i>or </i><br />
<i>I'm a human raising pro....</i><br />
<br />
That would be a complete lie. There are still times when I look at the 2 terrorists and Big Red and I'm thoroughly amazed that all 3 are still alive and and have the correct number of limbs.<br />
(I <i>am </i>convinced that the ringing in my ears that I hear off and on is a running total of therapy dollars though....)<br />
<br />
Last weekend was one of those times....I looked at my precious terrorists and not only wondered how I haven't lost them or damaged them yet, but I knew for certain I that the therapy hours were increasing exponentially.<br />
<br />
Most of this little shit-show story I'll be re-telling from the second-hand reports given to me by Derek (I'll be referring to him as Daddy-Death or "the destroyer of innocence) and Russ (now referred to by the terrorists as "The Russ that Killed our Dog")<br />
<br />
<i>Feel free to jump in and elaborate boys.....</i><br />
<i><br /></i> So, last Saturday my cousin Russ flew in from Louisiana for the weekend. He came to visit and stay the night Sunday night. Unbeknownst to Russ we had quite the busy day planned...<br />
<br />
We have (or had) a dog named Libby. She's adopted, but we think she's 12 or 13. Well, Libby hasn't been doing so well these last few months (or 2 years). She had been steadily losing the use of her back legs along with other minor issues like crapping as she walks ALL OVER THE HOUSE. We've been discussing putting Libby down for quite a while, but every time we get serious enough to actually schedule something she has an amazing week so we call it off. That, and the fact that she's the only dog that actually likes the terrorists (and they ADORE her) has made this the hardest decision ever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9I1YbKWmDqbrNNfjXx9hbcRFoPfzd1OWXJy_YtKw2daLZduZ1liPv2UJEYIMmvcNd-QFqZAKujUuqw692cfgKQVg0nhHjQbAsBt0XzdQdLqBWw7knygiBT3LBzcnWH3MB1pFV8yGH_uQ/s1600/IMG_1589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9I1YbKWmDqbrNNfjXx9hbcRFoPfzd1OWXJy_YtKw2daLZduZ1liPv2UJEYIMmvcNd-QFqZAKujUuqw692cfgKQVg0nhHjQbAsBt0XzdQdLqBWw7knygiBT3LBzcnWH3MB1pFV8yGH_uQ/s320/IMG_1589.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Last week I finally put my big girl panties on and decided that it was unfair to Libby to keep her in her current condition, so I called the Vet and made an appointment to have her put down that Saturday. The terrorists have heard us discussing having Libby "put down", but I don't think they really got the meaning. Sometime in that following week I sort of explained it to them (or just Jaxon maybe). I don't remember but I vaguely remember one of them being upset.<br />
<br />
This is when "The Farm" lie came into existence. I changed that sentence from "Were putting Libby down." to "We're bringing Libby down to a farm where there are no stairs so she can get around better". That beautiful lie worked like a charm...everyone was happy about Libby's new farm home.<br />
<br />
....Until The destroyer of innocence ruined it all.<br />
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<br />
So I may have forgotten about Libby's impending doom (or I may have turned into a giant vagina), but I scheduled my tattoo appointment too close to the time of doggie death. I realized I wasn't gonna make it. Right about the time I realize this (I'm sitting in a chair, mid-tattoo) Derek is returning home with the guest of honor. I call Derek and tell him I can't take Libby. D magically has an important door issue he has to fix so we're at a stale mate. Being the fixer of shit that I am I tell Derek to have Russ to go. Send him with the dog, the credit card and our truck - PROBLEM SOLVED...Or so I thought. <br />
X<br />
Nope, not us....we are the living breathing representation of a hot fucking mess. Of course it wasn't that easy.<br />
<br />
I get a text from Derek telling me I'm a giant dick for not being there "for this". I assumed he was either mad or Russ was bitching out too, so I told D to tell Russ to forget it and I'd be home shortly to handle it myself.<br />
<br />
The response I get from Daddy-Death: <i><b>"I'm just giving you shit"</b></i> and <b><i>"He's already gone"</i></b><br />
Needing to know what exactly I should have been there for I give him a call and ask him to specify what happened and what I missed. Remember, Libby was going to a fucking farm with no stairs....everyone was good. This was a seamless plan!<br />
<br />
Until the destroyer of innocence ruined it all....<br />
Apparently, when they got home Derek asked Russ if he'd mind taking Libby to have her put to sleep.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>IN.FRONT.OF.THE.TERRORISTS.</b></div>
There went my bullshit farm story. Doesn't everyone tell their kids that the dog ran away or went to a farm? I thought that was parent protocol.<br />
<br />
In hindsight maybe I should have run down the farm story to Daddy before leaving...<br />
So the terrorists begin to ask questions. From what I gather Daddy was short but brutally honest.<br />
<b>"Russ is taking Libby to the vet where they're gonna give her a shot to make her die. Then she's gonna go live with Jesus"</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aaNJq2YggxR8OhEH2u7Pi59bNho-pztdg83apBRC8YqmqmssgzmLUyJVZmOAWHs-u-9agN-OvMPspoUuVZwSVisaM96cSC9Cs8TenHsGQ6eAUoCWwgvJIs8gLfxhT8yfCAcIwSwSKTk/s1600/IMG_1762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aaNJq2YggxR8OhEH2u7Pi59bNho-pztdg83apBRC8YqmqmssgzmLUyJVZmOAWHs-u-9agN-OvMPspoUuVZwSVisaM96cSC9Cs8TenHsGQ6eAUoCWwgvJIs8gLfxhT8yfCAcIwSwSKTk/s320/IMG_1762.JPG" width="240" /></a><b><br /></b><br />
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<b>HOLYSHITBALLS!!! </b></div>
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Then they cried. Well my sweet boy Jax cried and begged Russ "the dog killer" not to kill Libby. Lannie cried too, but she cried because she wanted to go <b><i>"to see them stick the needle in her neck"</i></b></div>
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<i>(Side note here: I think I was wrong on the serial killer predictions...It's gonna be the tiny one)</i></div>
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The dog killer returned and tried to fix it as best as he could. He told Jaxon that on the way he found a farm with no stair for Libby and that's where she was.</div>
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The boy smiled from ear to ear</div>
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Until Tiny Satan Terrorist leaned in and whispered to him <b><span style="font-size: large;">"that farm is in heaven with Jesus"</span></b> and walked away....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbh4EWmec-l4RlhYkcozjTWCo41yHq68DJh198evazXosJ00M_YwvWJTbrpLGXjlcV0else0NwwsyxwDa5GeEckQY50IEPjwZggqxUUvgmHfHKfZKs81El12PHTCMwwPk0zb6x8D9JzLs/s1600/IMG_2067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbh4EWmec-l4RlhYkcozjTWCo41yHq68DJh198evazXosJ00M_YwvWJTbrpLGXjlcV0else0NwwsyxwDa5GeEckQY50IEPjwZggqxUUvgmHfHKfZKs81El12PHTCMwwPk0zb6x8D9JzLs/s320/IMG_2067.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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We might have sucked at parenting this weekend, but Lannie overshadowed it by being FUCKING EVIL. </div>
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I'm not sure if I should be grateful for the smokescreen or if I should start hiding the knives....</div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b> <b><i><br /></i></b> <b><i><br /></i></b> <b><i><br /></i></b> <b><i><br /></i></b> <b><i><br /></i></b> <b><i><br /></i></b> <b><i>From RUSS - AKA: THE RUSS THAT KILLED LIBBY:</i></b><br />
<div aria-label="Comment" class="UFIRow UFIComment _4oep" data-ft="{"tn":"R1"}" role="article" style="background-color: #f6f7f9; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px 12px; padding: 4px 0px; position: relative; word-wrap: break-word;">
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Russ </b></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You left out all the best parts!</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><b>Ashley </b></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was so long tho...write it in!!!</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Russ </b></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, how about how the dog who couldn't walk had to be picked up and carried into the back of the truck, decided to RUN and make me chase her through the parking lot at the humane society, or the dog who's back legs weren't working, was STANDING on th</span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">em with her front paws on the door as she stared out the window smiling at me as I explained to the lady at the front counter how much pain she was in and how her back legs didn't work, or how as I was about to go into the room to pet her she had already shit all over the place.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Ashley </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><b> </b></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hahaha!! Keep adding them and I'll update the post when I get home. Didn't Lannie introduce you to Libby too?</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><b>Russ </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b> </b></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yep, said "this is Libby, she's about to die" about 15 mins before D asked me to "go put her down" which means something totally different here</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Ashley </b></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So I need you to commit to at least 3 more trips back up here....</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Tiffany </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><b> </b></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What, you going to have him kill 3 more dogs?</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Ashley </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><b> </b></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When it's their time not tomorrow. 2 dogs and a cat actually - besides he's familiar with the process now</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Tiffany</b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><b> </b></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lmao! You ass monkey!</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Russ </b></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Haha, I'll come as long as you buy the ticket. Might want to do it all at once though, save you some money</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Tiffany </b></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><b> </b></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ya'll should get the story straight too. You know, the one that's about the farm in heaven with Jesus.</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: inherit;"><b>Russ </b></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="UFICommentBody" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Or we could just keep D from the kids</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-63911150803930346212016-09-14T17:43:00.001-06:002016-10-14T13:51:44.506-06:00Adoption Storks, Belly Button Tubes & Magic VaginasYup you read that right...<br />
Adoption storks, belly button tubes and magic vagina's was the car ride topic a few days ago. (I blush a little just thinking about it.)<br />
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Thanks to the terrorists we were once again trapped in an enclosed space forced to talk about uncomfortable shit. (At least it was <i><b>we</b></i> this time and not me.)<br />
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Before I get to the actual conversation there are a few facts you need to know about us and some back story needed for this to all make sense.<br />
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First off we're pretty open about body parts and call most everything by it's actual name. <br />
<i>No "wee wee" and "pee pee" here.</i> (Well except for Jaxon's balls - He couldn't say testicles when he was little and I couldn't practice that word with him over and over with a straight face so we called them balls and moved on.) In our house it's totally common to hear the toddlers talking about penis' and vagina's. They were so close in age we had to explain the whole "girls have vagina's and boys have penises" thing pretty early on.<br />
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Secondly, Lannie is fascinated with the body. Like actual organs and shit. It's really weird for a 3 <br />
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year old, but maybe she'll be a surgeon and pay for a nice nursing home for me one day. <br />
Anyway, she gets on theses kicks and wants to know specifics about specific body parts. A few weeks ago it was the "neck tubes" or what normal people call the esophagus. She made me show her pictures (thanks google) and wanted to know what it did. There have been others but the only important one to this story is the belly button. Months ago Lannie was asking about her belly button. I did the best I could at coming up with a simple answer. I told her it was a tube that she used to eat when she was in my tummy and that it connected from my tummy to hers so we could share my food. Jax happened to be in on this discussion as well.<br />
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Lastly, is the fact that Derek is adopted. It's not a secret and Derek's parents are pretty open about it. His dad likes to tease him and tell him that they picked him up and had a 30 day return policy. Jax has also heard this too. I think he thinks that Derek wasn't ever actually in anyone's tummy, he was just picked up at a baby store or something.<br />
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With that being said let me share the story of the most uncomfortable car ride with the terrorists to date:<br />
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRWxmwcn-m25v7pKbsGG_QRqDmQVxBXae01K3KseAmretz9rDfE8w" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRWxmwcn-m25v7pKbsGG_QRqDmQVxBXae01K3KseAmretz9rDfE8w" width="320" /></a><br />
It was a few days ago and we were going to the movies. (Me, D, Jax and Lannie) The kids were asking to see some new movie about storks. It isn't out yet so we saw something else, but I think that's how we got on the subject of storks, belly buttons and magic vagina's.<br />
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I wasn't paying much attention to the terrorists in the back but I heard them conversing about storks and how not all babies were delivered by storks. Some came out of mommy's tummy's. I think Jaxon's final consensus was that adopted babies get delivered by storks and all other babies come from mommy's tummy. Well Lannie being Lannie didn't agree and there started the "the conversation"<br />
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Someone from the back asked me if babies came from mommies tummies. I replied yes and thought the conversation was over. <br />
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<b>Fucking WRONG!</b><br />
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As soon as the terrorists mulled that over they wanted to know how the babies got out.<br />
"Um, Um..." I stammered to buy time. I looked at Derek and he shrugged. So we pretended like the question was never asked and hoped that was it. <br />
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NOPE...of course not<br />
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They came up with their own solution.<br />
Jaxon: "So babies just pop out of mommies tummies"<br />
Me: Yep (shooting a Sideways look at Derek - he had nothin')<br />
Jaxon: "So we popped out of your tummy?"<br />
Me: "Yep" (I'm keeping it short and sweet hoping a piece of lint with attract their attention...but they just wouldn't let it go....)<br />
Jaxon: "So wheres the scar on your belly that we popped out of"<br />
Lannie: "Yeah wheres the scar? What did we pop out of?" (She's a damn instigator!)<br />
Me: "Um.....my belly button?" <i>I did in fact ask this as a question because I wasn't sure if they were gonna buy it</i><br />
Jaxon: "No the belly button is the baby food tube remember." <i>Sonofabitch...no, actually i didn't remember that. </i>"So where does the baby pop out of?"<br />
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I look over at D and he's kind of giggling (we both are - we clearly weren't prepared for this conversation yet)<br />
By this time I know I'm not getting out of this one with some lame ass story and I'm trying to decide just how accurate I'm gonna be. I look over at D and give him the "What the fuck do I say" look. He shrugs and smiles. (remember he's a dick)<br />
I go with not very specific...but I say it fast. (Maybe that'll work)<br />
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Me: "Um, Uh...babiescomeoutofbutts" (yeah, if you slow that down I told my 5 & almost 4 year old children that babies.come.out.of.butts. I meant the general butt/nether region....they understood "ass hole"<br />
<i>Jax took it more literal....</i><br />
Jax: "NO! You don't poop babies!" <i>laughing at me like I'm purposely making a joke</i> "You poop turds!"<br />
Me: "Well it's kinds like that.... they come out somewhere down there" (this is seriously never gonna end....)<br />
Lannie: "So where does the baby pop out of mommy?" I<i> know this is going to have to be good because Doogie Howser is gonna want pictures soon....</i><br />
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<b>Right then I had the best idea EVER!!!!</b><br />
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Me: "I was laying in a bed when you popped out I couldn't see. I just know it was down there by my butt. Ask Daddy - he was watching...he knows"<br />
<i>I was so pleased with myself I didn't even remember to get a glimpse of Daddy's face.</i><br />
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Daddy however cut right to the chase....<br />
Derek: "Babies come out of Vaginas - you came out of your mom's vagina"<br />
Terrorists: "Ewww, No we didn't!" <br />
Me & Derek: "Yup. That's what happened"<br />
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I think it took Lannie a little longer to process. I vaguely remember her looking at me then down at her "stuff" and I'm pretty sure she decided that vaginas are magic. I know I heard "magic vagina" at some point, but Derek and I were giggling like school girls and trying act "adult-ish" so I kind of lost the rest of their conversation.<br />
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And just like that it was over. <br />
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But it's never really ever over with the terrorists. <br />
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They're just waiting for the opportunity to blindside me. That's what they do.<br />
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So.....<br />
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To the lady in the checkout line sometime in the near future: I apologize my daughter kept asking you if you have a magic vagina with babies in there. She didn't mean to weird you out. I know she keeps staring at it like it's gonna do a trick - feel free to turn around and ignore us. <br />
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To the parents who's kid believes in storks: I'm so sorry Jaxon convinced him he's adopted. On the up side, if you're reading this you already have a road map of the conversation. Just skip the butt hole baby....go straight to magic vagina and just get it over with.<br />
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<i>I've given my apologies. Now may I suggest that if you have kids and we're friends you either stop inviting us over or go ahead and prepare to explain this shit to your kids to...mine are most def. going to impart their wisdom on yours. </i><br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-59191827649624392742016-09-07T22:39:00.000-06:002016-10-19T18:57:56.002-06:007 Things I Want My Daughter To Know....TODAY, RIGHT NOW (...so maybe she'll quit being a dick)I spent the 1st half of my day today at work trying to track down and fix problems I didn't create.<br />
I spent the 2nd half of my day trying to fit 4 hours of work into 2 so I could leave work <i><b>twice</b></i> to drop the teenager off at cheer and pick her up again. (I also managed to have just about everything that could go wrong, in fact go wrong.)<br />
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The opposite of Asshole - this is when she's being awesome!</div>
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Upon picking up teenager I learned she didn't actually go to school today - it was a half day and she "didn't feel good".<br />
If you follow my blog or know me even slightly you already know what a shit show grades are when it comes to this one. Anyway, the teen got a little ass chewing and was told that she wouldn't be deciding her attendance until she could make passing grades.<br />
I think this is what ruined her mood, but she wouldn't actually speak to me so I'm not certain....<br />
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<i>I asked a few times but she was insistent on staring out the window and making a "something smells like shit face" instead</i>.<br />
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So, as I was driving I was thinking of all of the pearls of wisdom I could impart on her or maybe just point out that I stopped what I was doing (and made more work for myself in) order to make sure she got to do what she <i><b>wanted, </b></i>then I took another look at her unchanged <b><i>"something smells like shit"</i></b> face and realized that it would be a waste of time and breath.<br />
I also realized that all of these <b>"10 things I want my daughter to know before she..."</b> lists are great and thoughtful and all that jazz but they really don't do dick for the here and now.<br />
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So here are <b><span style="font-size: large;">The Seven Things I Want My </span></b><strike><b><span style="font-size: large;">Asshole</span></b></strike><b><span style="font-size: large;"> Teenager To Know</span></b>....like right now:</div>
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This is when I was an asshole -</div>
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I'm still apologizing for these years</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59dEitFSu4Tr-5GFiQcU47ioIT42jMy7GxsHCMcSELuYufZSO1f29LfGP6hkS7yVkxytMNH4olunAih33HCM9si62cn2v_Ogy9PPqPOGJ73Dqm05atMUb9HFQzd162kVlPfN0-sTUOLo/s1600/13627037_10154262973317357_8904699404030322037_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>1) I know you're calling me names in your head, rolling your eyes when I'm not looking and mainly wishing I'd just shut up and leave you alone. (I've even seen the texts and the colorful things you've written about me) It's cool though. I was a teen once and I did that too. But mainly it's cool because I'm still doing it to you....oh yeah - while you're rolling your eyes or making stink faces I'm calling you all kinds of names. PS - I'm 35 and I work in construction - my names win. (Here's a plan - you keep yours to yourself and make damn sure you don't actually ever say them to me aloud and I won't tell you all of the shit I've called you - we'll both be better for it) PPS...I also flip you off behind your back (sometimes it's the only thing stopping you from getting beat)<br />
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One day you'll even put a pic of us as your FB Profile</div>
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....I'll be over here waiting</div>
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2) In just 5 short years you will begin your real adult life and in the excitement of being a young adult on your own you will most likely forget our fights during the teenage years. So will I (or I'll take a cue from your granny and graciously pretend like I can't remember all that "minor" stuff) Here's the really creepy thing - one day you will have your own children and your own fights and attitudes to navigate - in that moment you will remember with unsettling clarity exactly what you said when you made your mom cry or when you actually hurt her feelings for real. You will apologize and she will accept, but you will know that some things can never be unsaid. Choose your words and actions carefully because you will be faced with them again.<br />
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3) I'll continue on that train of thought: Basically everything you do will come back to bite you in the ass. In the form of one or all of your children. It's called karma, she is a bitch and she is real. I can attest to that...you my dear, are my penance for all of the shit I put my own mom through. (She laughs at me when I tell her stories....like literally chuckles at my misery. I will do the same to you)<br />
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4) I want you to grow up and think for yourself, don't be a follower if you don't agree with the majority. Fight for the things you see as fair and just. Don't be afraid to go against the grain. Don't ever be afraid to be different. Except in my house. Just don't. Social injustice has nothing to do with sleepovers, phone privileges or the length of your grounding. Don't argue it'll only make it worse. Here's a good rule of thumb - expect to be grounded for one month for every <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OdE2UCqWOwHkL8Z0IOwEBrlmvnQSupyc04GTQHjdgBSqBzi_wK8b4qNsArk4gpgkGDqL3jYMHOYDwU3tt4v0MA0O96c0pRg7PkEtmBVc4N2diFJfMc07FOIQniQcJ6PLvZ8WLYIXF3M/s1600/13620000_10154236988027357_8454224230625398740_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OdE2UCqWOwHkL8Z0IOwEBrlmvnQSupyc04GTQHjdgBSqBzi_wK8b4qNsArk4gpgkGDqL3jYMHOYDwU3tt4v0MA0O96c0pRg7PkEtmBVc4N2diFJfMc07FOIQniQcJ6PLvZ8WLYIXF3M/s320/13620000_10154236988027357_8454224230625398740_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a>major infraction. If you think whatever it is that you're planning on doing is worth that month then give it a shot. But if you choose to risk it 1) take your punishment like the adult you thought you were when you willingly broke the rules (that means take it quietly and no I smell shit face" like it's my fault) and 2) know that I'm the dictator in this little country. I can and will do as I please. That month could turn into 3 or you might just find yourself standing in front of your school with sign around your neck and those Velcro Walmart shoes I always threaten you with. It's really a crap shoot...<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavrFgE3lXNEBh-2S7cQLTCzHd9_s40yhM5myvMr-xR5WltCZDnMGjqvYk2XH2khyeusAmUVEWfwRBR_TOOy2VfuzQr0tEx5l_N1PWXYZNaSX5HYnYKV2FQAiawDBjNmcSf62lK-5iRdY/s1600/13707651_10154262972657357_1312402800050100271_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><br /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
5) I know your little brother is annoying as hell sometimes (we all know that- he's 5) but you need to try and be patient with him and cut him a little slack. You were 5 once and we didn't sell you. More importantly he is your family. As you get older you'll realize they are what matters...you'll realize they always were what mattered and in the end they're all you can really count on. By the time you realize this you'll be so deep into your own hectic life that you'll depend on the bond you created in childhood to keep you connected when life gets in the way. Also, he's you're built in protector. He'll protect you fiercely from anyone or anything that might make you cry. When your young adult life is going to hell in a hand basket you'll want your back up. (he also might be a serial killer - you don't wanna piss him off in that case either)<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19nCnCIGur3_15h5GZ_AGWSHSG_xoCwItIxyR7V_DCIaUSPn-qLxW4ItWuLFu9Iz5A1jOeflarmwD-KItBvPAWpR3MOmkSOdUP9V-dHwm2_UHfkJht9EKvvcqb5Uc_hyphenhyphen408yNctjRQbE/s1600/13921181_10154355625792357_4635365168818094275_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19nCnCIGur3_15h5GZ_AGWSHSG_xoCwItIxyR7V_DCIaUSPn-qLxW4ItWuLFu9Iz5A1jOeflarmwD-KItBvPAWpR3MOmkSOdUP9V-dHwm2_UHfkJht9EKvvcqb5Uc_hyphenhyphen408yNctjRQbE/s320/13921181_10154355625792357_4635365168818094275_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19nCnCIGur3_15h5GZ_AGWSHSG_xoCwItIxyR7V_DCIaUSPn-qLxW4ItWuLFu9Iz5A1jOeflarmwD-KItBvPAWpR3MOmkSOdUP9V-dHwm2_UHfkJht9EKvvcqb5Uc_hyphenhyphen408yNctjRQbE/s1600/13921181_10154355625792357_4635365168818094275_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OdE2UCqWOwHkL8Z0IOwEBrlmvnQSupyc04GTQHjdgBSqBzi_wK8b4qNsArk4gpgkGDqL3jYMHOYDwU3tt4v0MA0O96c0pRg7PkEtmBVc4N2diFJfMc07FOIQniQcJ6PLvZ8WLYIXF3M/s1600/13620000_10154236988027357_8454224230625398740_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>6) You won't immediately believe this, but it's true....you will miss all of this one day. You'll spend the next 5 years fighting and clawing for your independence. If you're anything like me you'll run like the fucking wind as soon as you get it.<b>ENJOY IT</b>- because life will have another surprise for you <i><b>(FYI - life is constantly fucking with you, this won't be the only plot twist, but you can be surprised by the rest</b>).</i> Like I was saying, as soon as you have that independence thing sorta mastered you'll be slapped in the face with a family and babies. You'll realize you're actually calling the woman that caused all of those eye rolls and asking for advice and, like totally listening to it! If that weren't weird enough those babies turn into asshole teenagers and you'll begin hearing my voice coming out of your mouth. ....<b>AND</b> your eyes won't automatically get sucked up into your eye sockets!!! You're actually pretty proud that you picked up some of that shit. Somewhere along all of this you'll begin wondering why you ever really left at all...you won't remember what made you feel like you needed to run and you'll wonder why you traded a full time maid and chef for a mortgage and toilets that no one but you ever cleans. Mostly you'll wonder how you didn't notice what a kick ass mom you had the whole time...you'll start to dwell on it but someone will shit on the floor, or fail school or do any number of things to cut short your thinking time. (That's that bitch karma again...and at the rate you're going she's gonna wear your ass out.) Try to enjoy this prison sentence and your guards while it lasts. It will end one day and you'll miss some of it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJBuIGLjuS7G6pSaBtsjkNVPVqagjGuM45A1jqH_baKTRSLRhpVRshO3Dqv0gsg7N0kdR7Y6bR-GsHpPGTJd2M5aslKe5B9LK9a3pG2__Hjf51csqk9IENpNdmjl-5Pz6Z_KFsvS5-DU/s1600/10380906_10152459370697357_2648280662439283583_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><br /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiz4wBoTct3RdsJERwZdhLZbDq8XftAxMj5GQ07qomq68Qcjkq3lR0Ir3Z4zz-bNYWyZkzsJlrgRvBVhR7my7L6dYrp1mh-60vfZPFsxt2EdVd8bMmgDKTGzBCGOUYGukyB_2XPOWofJY/s1600/13707651_10154262972657357_1312402800050100271_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiz4wBoTct3RdsJERwZdhLZbDq8XftAxMj5GQ07qomq68Qcjkq3lR0Ir3Z4zz-bNYWyZkzsJlrgRvBVhR7my7L6dYrp1mh-60vfZPFsxt2EdVd8bMmgDKTGzBCGOUYGukyB_2XPOWofJY/s200/13707651_10154262972657357_1312402800050100271_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See - before kids...I exuded fun</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJBuIGLjuS7G6pSaBtsjkNVPVqagjGuM45A1jqH_baKTRSLRhpVRshO3Dqv0gsg7N0kdR7Y6bR-GsHpPGTJd2M5aslKe5B9LK9a3pG2__Hjf51csqk9IENpNdmjl-5Pz6Z_KFsvS5-DU/s1600/10380906_10152459370697357_2648280662439283583_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJBuIGLjuS7G6pSaBtsjkNVPVqagjGuM45A1jqH_baKTRSLRhpVRshO3Dqv0gsg7N0kdR7Y6bR-GsHpPGTJd2M5aslKe5B9LK9a3pG2__Hjf51csqk9IENpNdmjl-5Pz6Z_KFsvS5-DU/s1600/10380906_10152459370697357_2648280662439283583_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJBuIGLjuS7G6pSaBtsjkNVPVqagjGuM45A1jqH_baKTRSLRhpVRshO3Dqv0gsg7N0kdR7Y6bR-GsHpPGTJd2M5aslKe5B9LK9a3pG2__Hjf51csqk9IENpNdmjl-5Pz6Z_KFsvS5-DU/s1600/10380906_10152459370697357_2648280662439283583_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavrFgE3lXNEBh-2S7cQLTCzHd9_s40yhM5myvMr-xR5WltCZDnMGjqvYk2XH2khyeusAmUVEWfwRBR_TOOy2VfuzQr0tEx5l_N1PWXYZNaSX5HYnYKV2FQAiawDBjNmcSf62lK-5iRdY/s1600/13707651_10154262972657357_1312402800050100271_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>7) Lastly, believe it or not I didn't spend my teen years daydreaming about having babies, making lunches, chauffeuring kids to sports, getting up early, making other people food, repeating myself a million times and cleaning up shit I didn't leave all over my house. I daydreamed of being a doctor and being rich(not actually working) going out with my girlfriends, sleeping late and spending all of my money on clothes and spa services and European vacations. Life happened and I got you guys instead, BUT I would choose each one of you a million times over given the choice (even with the attitudes and eye rolls). Please try and remember - I'm not just "mom", I'm a person too. I have feelings and shit just like other people. I also don't inherently enjoy cleaning up messes I didn't create and repeating myself 5 million times. Most importantly, remember that when I'm doing something for one of you guys (buying you perfume, driving you to practice, hosting a sleepover, etc.) there's a good chance I've given up something I wanted or modified my plans to<br />
make yours work. Thank you goes a long way in mommy currency.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLd3k4WeC-DPpimrB4ZPdZCci7vQTkz6KiicLhnLFIGdJ6Qymh9iID8nTnrWW4KPVJQx5R-ekHeFEqx9oFwVGpcJnxbpYRD8yH3IAtDmbNz6GBchJUZGFxE_cRzJUWVqfwSaIWgLufNfs/s1600/10380906_10152459370697357_2648280662439283583_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLd3k4WeC-DPpimrB4ZPdZCci7vQTkz6KiicLhnLFIGdJ6Qymh9iID8nTnrWW4KPVJQx5R-ekHeFEqx9oFwVGpcJnxbpYRD8yH3IAtDmbNz6GBchJUZGFxE_cRzJUWVqfwSaIWgLufNfs/s320/10380906_10152459370697357_2648280662439283583_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I pictured my 20-40's</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLd3k4WeC-DPpimrB4ZPdZCci7vQTkz6KiicLhnLFIGdJ6Qymh9iID8nTnrWW4KPVJQx5R-ekHeFEqx9oFwVGpcJnxbpYRD8yH3IAtDmbNz6GBchJUZGFxE_cRzJUWVqfwSaIWgLufNfs/s1600/10380906_10152459370697357_2648280662439283583_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> You 3 people are the reason I get up each day and work hard to get you everything you want and need, but cut me some freaking slack every now and then. It's not a cake walk raising you monsters either. I teeter on a thin line between raising successful humans and causing hundreds of thousands of dollars in therapy.<br />
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<br />
In summary - those are the 7 things that might be helpful for you to know now, but mainly just don't be an asshole. I will always win and I can make the next 5 years as painful or as pleasant as your actions require. Plus...Karma. She is a real whore and she will come to pay you back.....<br />
<br />
Love you<br />
Mom<br />
<br />
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PS....can you for the love of god please take your laundry downstairs?!?!?!<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-74829302531260190162016-07-29T18:40:00.001-06:002016-08-02T13:39:35.589-06:00F#@$ You And Your Organic TomatoesSo, I was reading some shit today about how you should leave your cell phone at home when you take your kids to the park because if you don't pay absolute attention to them at all times they're gonna become serial killers. <br />
Then I felt bad about my parenting skills. <br />
Then I scrolled past another article about how tomatoes are being genetically modified and if you don't feed your kids the organic kind your dooming them to a life of drug use and homelessness....or some shit. <br />
<br />
Then I realized that people are actually reading this and thinking that they need to do this shit to be good parents...and others are actually turning their noses up at those of us that don't make homemade gluten free, sugar-free, dye-free bread. <br />
<br />
Then I was offended<br />
....then I felt stupid for actually being offended by the judgement of people who spend whole hours finding ways to sneak Kale into their kids food. (Then I made a mental note to write a blog and bitch and got my ass back to work)<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOkHM4pUqRpn8O4ttsHHhVbqMK761MhZdK_Zad1WpOvZkUGsrp9T8qMjCz2x_HcCXHtvbMAwfTb5UPHgLbxoT2LFijWIlaM35IFHxpymzJT0IBySJ6CpjyTO-hKsq3KyDLPcY6XdbAFc/s1600/13620000_10154236988027357_8454224230625398740_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuOkHM4pUqRpn8O4ttsHHhVbqMK761MhZdK_Zad1WpOvZkUGsrp9T8qMjCz2x_HcCXHtvbMAwfTb5UPHgLbxoT2LFijWIlaM35IFHxpymzJT0IBySJ6CpjyTO-hKsq3KyDLPcY6XdbAFc/s320/13620000_10154236988027357_8454224230625398740_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These kids have literally NEVER had Kale</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I was gonna start this blog with "since when did everyone have the right to judge everyone else".<br />
<br />
But today happened.... Maybe it's my shitty day or maybe it's the time I had to toss this whole blog idea around in my head. <br />
<br />
Whatever the reason I've now decided that that opening line is total bullshit. Since never. No one <i>really </i>ever has the right or authority to judge anyone else....well maybe said judge-ee's shrink, but that's it. <br />
<br />
That's beside the point. Since when has that ever stopped anyone before? Everyone's always judged everyone else- it makes the world go round. It's why I paint my stupid ugly toenails even though no fucking color on earth will camouflage my long ass second alien toes. <br />
<br />
What's new-ish is the self proclaimed right to judge whole groups of mothers based on the screen time and fucking kale consumption. (Btw...screen time is my mommy Xanax and shitty toddler murder prevention and kale is just fucking gross. I don't care what you dump on it or how you blend it- that shit is nasty! Just admit it - the rest of us already know it)<br />
<br />
Even worse is the ability to post that shit on an open forum like you have some degree or some other quality that should make people stop and take notice of your bullshit. (Pretty much what I'm doing here...)<br />
<br />
But that's not what really got me today. Crunchy Peggy in her sweat-stained Birkenstocks can blab all she wants about how she's superior because she was able to hide her kids kale by wrapping it in tofu and slathering it in coconut oil. <br />
<br />
What I can't fathom is why that actually even registers on a regular moms radar. <br />
<br />
First off....what happened to the good old days when we judged other women on their shoes and inability to keep their legs closed. Why doesn't anyone care that Katie looks like a hooker today?!?!? How did eating organic and living like the Mennonite become somehow holier than thou? These people are fucking hippies....they're cool, but no body really pays attention to their nonsense. We all know that one day they'll grow up, don a button-up shirt, probably even invest in a sensible pair of tennis shoes and join the real world (over at the McDonalds drive-through -just trying to get a happy meal for the toddlers after a long day of real work) <br />
<br />
Secondly, the bitch wears sweaty Birkenstocks, thinks tie dye is an acceptable pattern to wear and named her fucking kid Orphelia....since when do we take her serious??? And when did your figurative middle finger quit working?? <br />
<br />
When did we start bashing other moms over organic tomatoes and TV schedules. We all know it's totally acceptable to talk shit if little Johnny is a dick and spits on your kids and mommy refuses to discipline him - I mean that actually affects the rest of us. <br />
But organic food, the amount of red food dye you allow your kids to consume, that shit has no bearing on anyone but your kid and his butthole at the end of the day. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpJc0xPs-WuQzKUWzoxpjvsMxFGMhzgYFLfWKT5SZHjSSw5-6fDUYdvFafT2JFdy_fXv2d2JQRcqBWdXXsctP8uySSTP7DdAvGm6VOHqHmIFWzNQYQHxyg9AI37L2UdEmUN8MihC7rQ8/s1600/13700225_10154283991047357_7609379148947965850_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlpJc0xPs-WuQzKUWzoxpjvsMxFGMhzgYFLfWKT5SZHjSSw5-6fDUYdvFafT2JFdy_fXv2d2JQRcqBWdXXsctP8uySSTP7DdAvGm6VOHqHmIFWzNQYQHxyg9AI37L2UdEmUN8MihC7rQ8/s320/13700225_10154283991047357_7609379148947965850_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
This one eats boxed mac and chees almost </div>
<div>
daily and she's freaking MAGIC!!</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
When did we forget that we're in this together...we're not in a competition! <br />
We're literally just trying to stay sane and not murder a member of our own family (and usually trying to cook dinner, bathe kids, work a job outside of the home and remember to keep that damn alien toe painted)<br />
<br />
We might all be taking totally different approaches to this parenting thing, but we're literally just trying to keep a bunch of drunken midgets alive long enough to be independent adults who we can count on to wipe our asses when we're 90.<br />
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And how did we get so fucking sensitive. We (moms - every single one of us) literally grew a fucking human in our body. Whole teams of high paid engineers cant even build a car with out 15 recalls. <br />
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We built a humans...<b>WITH OUR LADY PARTS</b> and no directions. <br />
We build them then go on to squeeze them out of a hole the size of a pea. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-C4Xr63gFBfL04yduha35DI1fYl7nTDXzy9mhuo5WhyoFmZi6TOdVjBAJwDSQqQToZl8BGOVe9Lo_atuQRLQcJYEIl8NQ5jFTxLfw8hTpRPa3omjkeYxyVNrbTv5XoKLFRHN2C76DWc/s1600/13659079_10154266154992357_3583386811236302579_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9-C4Xr63gFBfL04yduha35DI1fYl7nTDXzy9mhuo5WhyoFmZi6TOdVjBAJwDSQqQToZl8BGOVe9Lo_atuQRLQcJYEIl8NQ5jFTxLfw8hTpRPa3omjkeYxyVNrbTv5XoKLFRHN2C76DWc/s320/13659079_10154266154992357_3583386811236302579_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I built this one 13 years ago and she's <i>still</i> alive....</td></tr>
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Even after all of that we <b>STILL</b> love them - we stay up nights on end being literally shit on, spit on, puked on, hit, scratched and pinched. <br />
We're like 3 water boardings shy of POW status (just stop - this is an exaggeration. I know that's probably not even close to being real life tortured in a POW camp but this is my blog and I can delete your comments and call you a whiney twat whos missing the point) <br />
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After all that how the hell are we so fucking sensitive??<br />
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FUCK YOU PEGGY! I built a baby...3 of them. Ya know what else....all 3 are still alive! I'm batting a-fucking-thousand over here! (And using corn syrup and Sponge Bob Square pants to boot). You can either cheer me on or fuck off but you cant make me feel bad for not buying the 12 dollar quinoa bread or hiding in the bathroom to eat my M&M's.<br />
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Maybe if more of us told Peggy to fuck off instead of trying to figure out how the hell to cook quinoa she'd decide to keep her super Mennonite mommy skills in her own house and just be a regular team player like the rest of us. <br />
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As for me...none ones dead yet, they all know how to use the word fuck in it's proper context, sometimes we only bath 3 times a week, fairly often they spend whole hours on an iPad or in front of the TV just so I can maintain my composure or do bills. I even hide candy in the shitter and tell them I'm pooping just so I don't have to share. <br />
On top of all of that they know they are loved, they know they have boundaries and consequences, they might not always have my undivided attention but they know that when they need me I'll be there. Hell, I even have a 13 year old daughter that confides in me (like real shit confides...I don't have to read her diary) <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVorzcz-jOT5VVSj_gGXR9QgujCslk0-jAdNEWI2HyX6pCk3pqVktxoPX20spoSA8GEMGUnkdw-Qe1EDUku44rqnjsyKsur4snYL31NkOBF61qXliD3uOpzTzQbXfoIXBPeFArAB9S4Js/s1600/13620728_10154287136267357_6934162116921842134_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVorzcz-jOT5VVSj_gGXR9QgujCslk0-jAdNEWI2HyX6pCk3pqVktxoPX20spoSA8GEMGUnkdw-Qe1EDUku44rqnjsyKsur4snYL31NkOBF61qXliD3uOpzTzQbXfoIXBPeFArAB9S4Js/s320/13620728_10154287136267357_6934162116921842134_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what not baking quinoa bread looks like - and that's totally beer in my hand</td></tr>
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So, fuck you Peggy - <i>and</i> your organic kale flavored quinoa tofu bread. You can waste all your time trying to tell us haggard moms how we're ruining our kids and coming up with new recipes that still taste like cardboard. I'll be over here enjoying mine when they're tolerable and hiding in the shitter eating chocolate when they're being assholes. <br />
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To my friends...(as long as yours is breathing and doesn't spit on my kids or steal my car) Way to fucking go! <br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://domesticatedmomster.com" rel="nofollow" title="DomesticatedMomster"><img src="https://domesticatedmomster.files.wordpress.com/2015/12/momsterslinknewf3.jpg" alt="DomesticatedMomster" style="border: none; height: auto; width: 200px;" /></a></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-48710710412090924972016-07-11T15:07:00.001-06:002016-07-11T15:07:04.718-06:00Yep I'm All outa F*%$'s Too.....I read the best article EVER today! It's called <a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/too-tired-mom/?utm_source=FBOnsite" target="_blank">"20 Signs I'm Too Tired To Mom"</a> it's over on <a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/" target="_blank">ScaryMommy </a>and you can read it for yourself, but here are a few highlights:<br />
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<i>"But sometimes? Sometimes I am simply a very tired person—a person too damn tired to juggle it all. I want to tell everyone, including my kids and the PTA, to juggle my balls.." </i><br />
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and<br />
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<i>"My daughter is sleeping in her clothes, AGAIN...."</i><br />
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I think this woman lives in my house....or maybe we're all this tired and over it, but we hide it well on Facebook. I think I'm gonna start posting real pictures from my life. Like this little gem:<br />
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This is Landry today at 3:00PM. She has Elsa slippers on her feet....at daycare....on purpose.<br />
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Yes, she showed up in them and yes I knew. I just didn't have it in me to fight socks and shoes on her little dictator feet this morning. <br />
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As a matter of fact she not only showed up to daycare in slippers she had on the matching nightgown as well. <i>(I plopped her inside and threw a bag of real clothes to Roz. "the
saint that can clothe the terrorist" and got the fuck outta
there ASAP!</i>) I was all out of fucks y'all. <br />
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And it's only Monday.... <br />
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<i><br /></i>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-6775643844204806842016-07-07T19:52:00.001-06:002016-07-07T19:52:49.246-06:00She's 3....and She's a DICK!Let me explain before you watch the video...<br />
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We're not torturing poor Jaxon on purpose, but there's a rule in our house: at the end of the night all of the toys left on the floor go in the trash.<br />
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It's not a new rule and it has worked well....so far.<br />
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Until Lannie. Lannie's a bad ass. Lannie won.<br />
As I write this Lannie is napping in her room. She pointed out a few toys to her daddy that he missed (like saying fuck you with out actually saying it) then proceeded to go up to her room for a rest while her brother had a freak out fest over HER toys. Not a single one of Jaxons toys were thrown away.<br />
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What you didn't hear was Lannie explaining to daddy that she picked up all of the good toys and the rest were old and he could handle them. At this point I was laughing so hard I had to leave the room... (We hid them in the garage and didn't actually throw them away)<br />
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She's a dick....and she won. A 3 year old won the battle....<br />
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<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-40369276597891822972016-05-07T10:50:00.003-06:002016-05-07T11:00:34.110-06:00Mother's Day Thoughts....and that stupid video<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Oh the feels......</h2>
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I don't know if it's the fact that my babies are growing up or the vast differences in ages and stages that's making my desire for time to slow down so overwhelming. </div>
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The babies are growing into kids and becoming more independent each day. </div>
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That part is easy, but in-between removal of training wheels and sleepless toddler nights my oldest is turning into a woman faster than I can comprehend. </div>
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I'm cheering the toddlers on to childhood and at the same time silen<span class="text_exposed_show">tly begging for time to stand still with the Big. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxCyGkNNKKj72DQrRYLgCsidiprxb5lPpFLGR3J_wzC8P1IdWt-Fj6jW22A04gnhbhgBOGwjEDuTuAslx3nVjVpQrM4nnp6krZVHZmWQmGRVKwyv-VFPRc-_A1HuhZ8I15uPqxRz0fN8/s1600/11813527_10203706187009747_4502853436572007662_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxCyGkNNKKj72DQrRYLgCsidiprxb5lPpFLGR3J_wzC8P1IdWt-Fj6jW22A04gnhbhgBOGwjEDuTuAslx3nVjVpQrM4nnp6krZVHZmWQmGRVKwyv-VFPRc-_A1HuhZ8I15uPqxRz0fN8/s200/11813527_10203706187009747_4502853436572007662_n.jpg" width="150" /></a><span class="text_exposed_show"> I'm so ready for a full nights sleep, first days of kindergarten and sleeping in because the little's are big enough to get cereal or turn on the TV, but I know the reality of this means Big will be on her way to independence. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaMzCW2QeElkthMsDF0IGMh-Tud1AyuQwGqRW91_R3tyirQ2PAJL_0IlUK1IeIAchL3RaG41FCpz7HFetv2nIhd2M7RMexq6u_Qjzfp0u4p0a4cO7g31y4i0qfHIcXiF37i0PkQi86aE/s1600/206622_10150158865727357_5514672_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRaMzCW2QeElkthMsDF0IGMh-Tud1AyuQwGqRW91_R3tyirQ2PAJL_0IlUK1IeIAchL3RaG41FCpz7HFetv2nIhd2M7RMexq6u_Qjzfp0u4p0a4cO7g31y4i0qfHIcXiF37i0PkQi86aE/s200/206622_10150158865727357_5514672_n.jpg" width="138" /></a>Somewhere in the shitstorm of 2 new babies and surviving life with them my first baby grew up and I feel like I missed it.<br />
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Kaitlynn, thank you for making me a mom for the first time. Thank you for not being breakable and bouncing when we dropped you. Thanks for being such a good baby that you l tricked me into thinking I knew what I was doing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGcWn4UyDoSIZI6r0TlPVJeHKJ7j1BNMOdNqWTfbRzVvbi05kBIjLv3_jrE4xhpdEc6SC5a3d_ItdUJmwrIgpjTgEWsVAFr-BZ5kiSKpjBy-jtmxJHRvYQrOihS2Nw-njuQuemThhbKg/s1600/IMG_4559.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsGcWn4UyDoSIZI6r0TlPVJeHKJ7j1BNMOdNqWTfbRzVvbi05kBIjLv3_jrE4xhpdEc6SC5a3d_ItdUJmwrIgpjTgEWsVAFr-BZ5kiSKpjBy-jtmxJHRvYQrOihS2Nw-njuQuemThhbKg/s200/IMG_4559.jpg" width="150" /></a>Terrorists- thank you for not completely driving me insane <em>all</em> of the time. Thank you for making it so crazy that we didn't have time worry about the cluster that was/is our daily lives. THANK YOU for FINALLY crapping in a toilet and saving me from one more day of that shit....literally.<br />
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Its bittersweet watching each of you grow up. While I'd like to keep you all little and protected, I cannot wait to meet the adults that you each become (unless one of you is in jail - I don't want to meet that one....just run away now)<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-12128260565256597142016-02-01T10:44:00.000-07:002016-02-01T10:46:55.298-07:00The Kidnapping Room You've heard about the road trip, but I haven't shared the murder room story yet... <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRv9VzSPFpNr_qzVVVi3jOu3SiCAsKjmf5qeXj1PkXF9vHBoCNGOKIYuyQAFfpDl0pqMBxQRVg7N21g7OvChuGQ33C-bcN3JHQN8XKWw9OuPE3LHykvHbjsO93VjcuTZDPP3_BkO2Bus/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRv9VzSPFpNr_qzVVVi3jOu3SiCAsKjmf5qeXj1PkXF9vHBoCNGOKIYuyQAFfpDl0pqMBxQRVg7N21g7OvChuGQ33C-bcN3JHQN8XKWw9OuPE3LHykvHbjsO93VjcuTZDPP3_BkO2Bus/s1600/th.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
So, we stopped for the night in Texas and me being me (that means cheap)...well, I got online to find the best hotel deal.<br />
<br />
I used Hotwire.com.<br />
<br />
On their site you can choose a room at a discount but you don't know the hotel name. It just gives you star levels and comparable hotel chains. I've never been really disappointed and it's always been a great deal.<br />
<br />
Well, this time we got screwed. (Like bent over with no lube kind of screwed....)<br />
Problem is, when you buy these rooms there is a no refund policy just because you don't like your room. That's the risk you take for a 1/2 price room I guess.<br />
<br />
The shithole was so bad that we didn't even stay...we left and booked another room. <br />
<br />
I didn't think I'd get my money back, but I wrote an email to Hotwire just in case. I figured since I most likely wasn't gonna get a refund I'd at least have a good time with it. The funny must have worked...I think I had the money back in my bank account in like 2 hours!!!<br />
<br />
What follows is my letter to their complain department:<br />
<br />
<i>I wanted to take a minute to to give someone feedback on a hotel we booked last week.<br />
We had a death in the family and were headed to Louisiana from Colorado. I booked a hot deal hotel room at the 2.5 star level. I've
been a loyal Hotwire customer for the past few years and have never been
disappointed until last weekend. Granted, I booked a 2.5 star
accommodation so I wasn't expecting the Sheraton, but I was appalled by
what I actually received. We received our confirmation of a room
booked at the Baymont Inn and suites. First, I checked Travelocity and
saw that the Baymont was ranked number 7 of 8...only above the motel 6.
I calmed down and decided to base my opinion on the actual hotel when
we arrived. I should have just cut my losses then and booked another
hotel as the real thing was worse than the reviews. </i><br />
<i> Let me list what we found:</i><br />
<i>
Upon entry the lobby smelt like the BO of 25 construction workers
trapped in an elevator doing jazzersize for 3 days with no ac....and the
dining room was connected to this stink pit. </i><br />
<i> I think the front
desk gentleman spoke some sort of English, but I wasn't certain as he
only mumbled while flinging my key across the desk. (I'll call him Raj
since he didn't introduce himself or have a name tag.) </i><br />
<i> The desk was missing trim and coming off of the wall....but they did have a very pretty rug and some nice throw pillows.</i><br />
<i>
Raj grunted and pointed me to my room. As we rounded the corner to
park we solved the mystery of the jazzersise construction worker BO!</i><br />
<i>
THERE THEY WERE! The construction workers with a hibachi grill on the
front porch and their door wide open (I imagine for the fresh air..)<br />
Before you get the wrong idea here I'm not profiling...I'm guessing
construction workers because there were drywall sheets in the bed of the
pick up and well...I have a construction worker husband. Setting up a
grill on the front porch of his hotel room is totally something he would
do...along with icing down beers in the bathtub. </i><br />
<i> Anyway, with that mystery solved it was on to the hotel room. </i><br />
<i>
I had just run out of smokes...imagine my shock when I looked down and
found at least 35 half smoked Butts to save my night (along with my
nerves when I entered the 2.5 star room-o-crap)</i><br />
<i> Initially the key didn't work which I assume wasn't our lack of key knowledge. <br /> Here, I must admit... im jumping to conclusions...</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99Zp9i8xwd8o5dshIVge82-OYBSqJAxg7DZnCLza078Mja7QPrFcqsd4xoAax3UEekoql4_vnhWoxbamNzfjIslye61nPKyanEwGttAUtxX8yZiSADw1cGXkT4N9z80oKgvT78HguvYA/s1600/12509761_10153803792867357_1151653788521241712_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99Zp9i8xwd8o5dshIVge82-OYBSqJAxg7DZnCLza078Mja7QPrFcqsd4xoAax3UEekoql4_vnhWoxbamNzfjIslye61nPKyanEwGttAUtxX8yZiSADw1cGXkT4N9z80oKgvT78HguvYA/s320/12509761_10153803792867357_1151653788521241712_n.jpg" width="176" /></a><i><br />
I didn't ask Raj but made that assumption based on the large amount of
dents in both the door handle plate as well as the door itself, but to
be fair it could have been a kidnapping escape situation and not a lock issue
at all.</i><br />
<i> Moving on...</i><br />
<i> Upon entering the room I was
impressed at the risk Raj had taken in his design. I might not agree
with all over orange sherbet color with a teal accent wall, but it was
definitely a statement.</i><br />
<i> The 1/2 gap between the door molding and
the drywall was a little less inspiring, but that could have been a new
addition attributed to the kidnapping incident which caused all of the
door dents.</i><br />
<i> (There was also a hole in wall and some funky sink
discoloration that I don't think can be attributed to the kidnapping but
I think is still worth mentioning.)</i><br />
<i> Now at this point I didn't plan on staying there much less showering, but I had 2 toddlers in tow. </i><br />
<i> If you have kids you'll understand that little toddler butts cannot be tamed or scheduled. This brings me to the bathroom... </i><br />
<i>
After attending nature we realized we had already touched multiple
surfaces. Logic says we're clearly already suspects in the kidnapping
case by fingerprints alone...we might as well suck it up, barricade the
shoddy door and get some shut eye.</i><br />
<i> Here's where the construction worker hubby really ruined it for all of us... <br />
See, even though he's down with hibachi grills in the front porch and
might even contribute to the BO smells on a work trip one thing he
cannot handle is non draining tub or cold showers. </i><br />
<i> Two things that he was greeted with upon trying out the shower. </i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5iFQkUHpLo_qjfNDH8m9HTBW4_zOo1yuhcBDRJgUkxxmnAoTaHTdtEB4pamr0tYRO1DpxnheeRb8IZqZ1ATAGzANiT0pBKxN2HrnmIEfaHh5lFGTXEw86BwJqT1CCb2HFlbvx671qMg/s1600/12573944_10153803792707357_8502930977158394322_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP5iFQkUHpLo_qjfNDH8m9HTBW4_zOo1yuhcBDRJgUkxxmnAoTaHTdtEB4pamr0tYRO1DpxnheeRb8IZqZ1ATAGzANiT0pBKxN2HrnmIEfaHh5lFGTXEw86BwJqT1CCb2HFlbvx671qMg/s320/12573944_10153803792707357_8502930977158394322_n.jpg" width="176" /></a><i> Less concerning to him were the mystery splatter behind the door or the black hand prints on the bathroom door. <br />
Now hopefully the hand prints were just from the plumber who was
interrupted while trying to fix the drain when we barged in ( but maybe
Raj could make a pass with the 409 get it handled.) </i><br />
<i> As for the
mystery splatter...I'm going to imagine that someone before us was
enjoying a nice chocolate sundae in the tub and being wet dropped it and
it splattered. If not, tell Raj to have the CSI unit spray the luminal
in the bathroom.</i><br />
<i> I hope you've enjoyed my recollection of the
$90 shithole you sold me under the assumption that I was getting a 2.5
star hotel room that was equal to the LA Quinta because the only thing
that is funny is my interpretation. </i><br />
<i> Now I know you don't
necessarily know exactly what your selling but i figure its only fair to
inform you that you got screwed as well. (I don't know about you, but I
at least expect a nice dinner before getting fucked....another
thing I didn't get)</i><br />
<i> I did spend another $100 to stay the night in
the "comparable" LA Quinta. While we didn't get a good kidnapping saga
we got an A+ room and I learned that those hot deals are more like
flaming bag of poop. (I don't know why I used that analogy, but they're
both pretty shitty)</i><br />
<i> If you would like pictures please don't
hesitate to call me or email and if it's against your policy to refund
for crappy rooms maybe you could consider it a tip for the most creative
complaint email ever...either way it'd be pretty cool to see that $$
pop right back k into my bank account.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Thanks </i><br />
<i>(not really - you
kinda screwed me, but my English teacher used to tell us we had to close
with something..."you suck" wasn't ever an option she gave us)</i><br />
<br />
<i>Ashley</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Maybe funny worked....<br />
<br />
<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-92154098960913059362016-01-27T11:32:00.003-07:002016-01-27T11:32:39.776-07:00Road Trippin' w/The Terrorists<h4>
<b>Well, we completed our first road trip last week. </b></h4>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsC7qG4yhjc21sskrhwm61MSrEAhZoYKumugJaHPUf6ebgVz8vxccUaki7UY2tkn9DKzKo-qwJD13p477aTmszmDbZ1UkbUx6UeWHXnE5hb1nlge6pM0kkgfuhOaf6BD_tqc49J-ZZ2w/s1600/12439509_10153792208197357_7699614809868575652_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsC7qG4yhjc21sskrhwm61MSrEAhZoYKumugJaHPUf6ebgVz8vxccUaki7UY2tkn9DKzKo-qwJD13p477aTmszmDbZ1UkbUx6UeWHXnE5hb1nlge6pM0kkgfuhOaf6BD_tqc49J-ZZ2w/s200/12439509_10153792208197357_7699614809868575652_n.jpg" width="110" /></a>Like most things we do, we jumped right - didn't take it slow, but embarked on a 2-Day road-trip....(not out of gusto mind you; it's usually out of stupidity, accident or necessity)<br />
<br />
In any case, our first road trip was one of necessity.<br />
<br />
We drove to Louisiana.<br />
It was a 2 day drive...19 hours and 47 minutes to be exact. <br />
I was prepared for complete chaos, but was actually surprised - the terrorists did AMAZING!! (Good for me but kinda puts a damper on the blog)<br />
<br />
Since I knew I wouldn't have consistent internet I decided to keep running updates on Facebook and compile them for you all here after the trip. I expected to have a minimum of 85 updates. (Most of them consisting of who shit their pants and who I was planning on leaving at the next gas station.)<br />
<br />
In reality no one shit their pants, I didn't threaten to leave a terrorist at the gas station and we didn't even have any major melt downs. (If something doesn't change I'll have to adopt a new terrorist or start writing about my dogs....they shit "places") We did have a few funny moments for me to share though.<br />
<br />
<i>Be warned: In true Ashley/Terrorist fashion they're laced with profanity and off-color topics.</i><br />
<br />
Anyway, we left last Saturday morning at 4AM and headed out. Our stopping point was 13 hours away in Terrell TX. (Both terrorists had sympathy for us and slept until about 8:30.)<br />
<br />
What follows are the highlights of our trip from CO to LA and back - enjoy:<br />
<br />
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And we were off.....<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqFGQLuPQ4i_0B5ozG4tadcVCk7-E5A5CThacmsd-w2nAbbA3xhhQeopaDr3ETAxkjZQd8Pxt5hz9P5yjDmfNBsCiQtHqVt98u14X3BvgDl6HNFGtlc_6UvIr5fhJKNd_OOQ5w1jbeUI/s1600/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqFGQLuPQ4i_0B5ozG4tadcVCk7-E5A5CThacmsd-w2nAbbA3xhhQeopaDr3ETAxkjZQd8Pxt5hz9P5yjDmfNBsCiQtHqVt98u14X3BvgDl6HNFGtlc_6UvIr5fhJKNd_OOQ5w1jbeUI/s1600/1.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
He did fall back asleep....I don't know if I'm happy that he's growing up or totally bummed that I'm running out of "Sweaty Balls" and "Black Men" stories. But he slept and and we drove in blissful silence....until the questions<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnyeCio8eG6xARh5v3O_NUmg6CWxNQa1Mrs9Hsth0j3VMRCt8i2lDMGE0dD7viubbW2HSMeKachf5jCbNa8MirOqdnmY2N2D10tluWBPqvcF71UDui_FvoL1-qNhuKEoyDMlhRhlmz5Y/s1600/3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnyeCio8eG6xARh5v3O_NUmg6CWxNQa1Mrs9Hsth0j3VMRCt8i2lDMGE0dD7viubbW2HSMeKachf5jCbNa8MirOqdnmY2N2D10tluWBPqvcF71UDui_FvoL1-qNhuKEoyDMlhRhlmz5Y/s1600/3.png" /></a></div>
<br />
and promptly fell asleep for another 3 hours. We enjoyed the sights in blissful silence once more:<br />
<br />
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<br />
While the kids are asleep I comment on random shit, but seriously who names a town Gobblers Knob and who can even refer to said town with a straight face???<br />
<br />
Back to the terrorists....<br />
The girl terrorist takes center stage in this one. We had 6 hours of sleeping terrorists which was nice, but they woke up and were fairly entertaining for a while. <br />
<br />
I bought them each a sticker book which had pages of blank faces and pages of sticker features. They missed the point. Not one face made in the book. But we laughed enough to need a potty break.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj01aTJSMRwdZxajAlAgoVXKq8Vmf3a8FEiI1yJ8aH_htgjKtik7aPMomms0-CL3QjFeY2HheOq3zKtYbqqSaHOG1tScuu8C6tTxexzzhOG9-5PsE7nfzoMYlvofwKiKfoSL0UcIUoFc/s1600/5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtj01aTJSMRwdZxajAlAgoVXKq8Vmf3a8FEiI1yJ8aH_htgjKtik7aPMomms0-CL3QjFeY2HheOq3zKtYbqqSaHOG1tScuu8C6tTxexzzhOG9-5PsE7nfzoMYlvofwKiKfoSL0UcIUoFc/s640/5.png" width="534" /></a></div>
<br />
By hour 9 the stickers had worn off and mommy was getting a little testy:<br />
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<br />
Almost to the stopping point and the kids are getting sleepy (mommy smoked at the last rest stop so she's smiling again) and still no crapping of the pants!!!<br />
<br />
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<br />
Day 2 was fairly uneventful....so uneventful that I didn't have any posts.<br />
Now the hotel room in-between those two is another story, but I'll share that in another blog.<br />
<br />
We spent a week in Pierre Part and were back on the road again Friday around 7AM. It wasn't nearly as entertaining but we did have a few laughs...also a few more pooper breaks. The kids were pretty good considering we were "just going home" (according to the boy terrorist)<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />I didn't puke and we carried on....they even let me sleep a little!<br />
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So maybe I called it a shitter first, but look closely and read the sign. That terrorist is a smart feller...<br />
(it says "Grab - N - Go Food Mart #2) <br />
Don't judge me....we're traveling with toddlers. Sometimes all ya got is poop humor.<br />
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Well the kids must have fallen asleep here because I had time to get
sappy and homesick. (Technically this one doesn't have anything to do with the
terrorists, but now you all know it's not just F-bombs and ball
jokes...)<br />
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So the calm didn't last long. Packed away the feels and started scouting for shitters.<br />
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It was real. She was allowed to come home with us, but you can see that shes extremely pleased with her timing.</div>
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Maybe I do need a new threat, but cut me some slack. We were on hour 2,056 of this road-trip and it <i>was </i>kinda funny...it wasn't in public and we ended on a high note - 50% decrease in noise level.</div>
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It must have been extremely boring after this...the posts don't pick up until the next day. The final stretch home.</div>
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The stickers really never get old...<br />
I also think I found next years Halloween costume.<br />
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They actually didn't burch but bitched. (My phone hates me and spells shit incorrectly to make me look like a moron.) Back to the trip...<br />
Nothing overly entertaining, but the Pilot did drive us halfway across the country and back he deserves at least one feature picture.<br />
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Maybe it was the stale air in the cab of the truck or the 500 hours on the road but I laughed about this exchange all the way back to Colorado.<br />
(As a side note: YES Janis died of an overdose and NO it was not Mamma Cass...she died of heart problems but the ham sammich rumor <i>is </i>attributed to her. Dear god, if anyone comments about Mamma Cass again I might have my own heart problems....)<br />
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And that's it...the very anti-climatic ending to a very long drive. <br />
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<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-30193511367008700272015-12-04T09:14:00.002-07:002016-12-03T17:13:34.363-07:00I Need a Nap, a Xanax and a MargaritaTiny Terrorist will be 3 on Sunday.<br />
Boy Terrorist is 4 and Big Red will be 13 in just over a month.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfwtpWDd1j9ykloDoz-_BOOhsgiRkPmE_URjkYwMTw_EhZSJN7zA6ZMeYottOiybuZLSuuLLqJILnlK8FkNxzOBn-1ybM6g2xU10ZTb6ntFdMzioPcP1-VT-YlFbAwNjlB0MGBHrxM4w/s1600/2015-10-21_1445438538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxfwtpWDd1j9ykloDoz-_BOOhsgiRkPmE_URjkYwMTw_EhZSJN7zA6ZMeYottOiybuZLSuuLLqJILnlK8FkNxzOBn-1ybM6g2xU10ZTb6ntFdMzioPcP1-VT-YlFbAwNjlB0MGBHrxM4w/s200/2015-10-21_1445438538.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes...that's her everyday sass</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><b>My babies are growing up.</b></i><br />
<br />
I don't know whether to cry, throw a party or move out of the house.<br />
<br />
I knew my experiences with the terrorists would be somewhat different because of their gender (one boy, one girl), but it didn't even occur to me the giant sea of difference I would experience between them and big red.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'm living in the mind of bi-polar person.....on drugs <br />
<br />
This morning I got the full spectrum from cleaning up pee to making make-up pit stops.<br />
Here's the summary of my morning (6:00AM - 8:00AM)<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Tiny terrorist peed her pants - while standing next to the toilet....because she wanted me to lift her on to it and hold her toilet paper for her until she was ready to wipe. (she's fully capable of getting up there on her own - she does it 90% of the time. She also has no problem pulling, holding and stuffing an entire roll of TP in the toilet on any other day) </li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul>
<li>I had to explain for the 5,678th time to Boy Terrorist that no, he could not bring his nerf shot gun to school, then I had to explain that he also couldn't bring his nerf pistol.....no, not even if you hide it in your underpants.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Find shoes for both terrorists after an exhaustive 42 second search party was completed by the terrorists (the shoes were in the shoe box....where they are every morning for the last 2 years) </li>
</ul>
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CJsp3ORihsy3m20-iED29VSoaiGq0Yy4arPzslT9b8eZ0dRdxDhPyx5vdXNfnUS8iUpXL7t22stCC7laWZAfk1ymMrBJxH1Ke4mw7WzjzpDmJByyyxlj9NB9XDmIaSJXVSyX0N_MOf0/s1600/12079682_10153615664427357_7297155751036084476_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CJsp3ORihsy3m20-iED29VSoaiGq0Yy4arPzslT9b8eZ0dRdxDhPyx5vdXNfnUS8iUpXL7t22stCC7laWZAfk1ymMrBJxH1Ke4mw7WzjzpDmJByyyxlj9NB9XDmIaSJXVSyX0N_MOf0/s320/12079682_10153615664427357_7297155751036084476_n.jpg" width="176" /></a>
<li>Carry both terrorists to the car because they cannot walk they are just too exhausted and "If you love us you'll carry us" (courtesy of Boy terrorist) </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Return to house after pulling out of driveway so big red cold retrieve her headband.....because no ponytail is complete without a big ass band of elastic strapped to your forehead. (The door was locked...which just ruined it all...making a trip back to the car for keys and then back to the house was out of the question - commence pouting)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Big red notices that my make up isn't in the car and she has no make-up. (and OHMYGAWD...she has to have mascara and eyeliner because her "eyes are different sized"....no shit that's what she said) So googly-eyes announces that this is "THE WORST MORNING EVER" </li>
</ul>
<ul><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCgakEjUl4CvdQHwWm9MSdJOlWwwoJaEIZoUR8ylSmp35a4jNemdYVRdSGH6DwL-Yyr68QAusk4Ie-C9UzxLS10HCPD6Fq6X3e_Xcg1X1B5G7In9aFpvnTcGJYLnqfwnkoAGxgeYzm4zw/s1600/Kait.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCgakEjUl4CvdQHwWm9MSdJOlWwwoJaEIZoUR8ylSmp35a4jNemdYVRdSGH6DwL-Yyr68QAusk4Ie-C9UzxLS10HCPD6Fq6X3e_Xcg1X1B5G7In9aFpvnTcGJYLnqfwnkoAGxgeYzm4zw/s320/Kait.png" width="88" /></a>
<li>I concede to stop by her fathers house so she can get make up to un-googly-eye herself. We get make up and googly announces that all she has is bronzer and her face will be all brown and uneven and this really is "THE WORST MORNING EVER" (Um, why does she even have bronzer...I don't even know what to do with bronzer) Tears flow....</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>We show up at daycare and Tiny Terrorist informs me she is not going today....she wants to go to gymnastics. Commence flopping out of car seat, flinging self on ground and generally being an asshole. I explain to her that gymnastics is after daycare when the sun is getting ready to go to sleep. Mercifully, she enters daycare with Boy terrorist with no other argument.</li>
</ul>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCQEcGJ6QiuhQR5Z293U2372TGlVegbnoWk3gsz_esOeUgYoeBRL9uV11BkktjncZFhyphenhyphenq3-rvPRY8DdH4wIhNG_qaR4rJDCeaZqNqfV_Ze9EcDzgdCK3_sTYvCmu8OydpZG-9qVYgSQI/s1600/Kait2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCQEcGJ6QiuhQR5Z293U2372TGlVegbnoWk3gsz_esOeUgYoeBRL9uV11BkktjncZFhyphenhyphenq3-rvPRY8DdH4wIhNG_qaR4rJDCeaZqNqfV_Ze9EcDzgdCK3_sTYvCmu8OydpZG-9qVYgSQI/s320/Kait2.png" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No actual "Googly-Eyes" - Shes absolutely beautiful</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>Back to googly eyes....shes in full blown teenager meltdown mode slamming my visor mirror, crying and mumbling about uneven eyes, splotchy skin and worst mornings ever. I gave up...I drove across town to my office so she could use my make up then drove back across town to bring the now beautified un-googley-eyed big red to school. (I fought the urge to tell her her eyes still looked the same as they did at 6AM, just with more junk on them...) </li>
</ul>
Crisis averted, all kids are safely in the care of somebody-fucking-else for the day. I feel like I need a nap, a Xanax and a margarita. I really didn't think this whole future thing through.....Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-45593292085820276552015-11-30T14:26:00.000-07:002015-11-30T14:28:19.679-07:00 She Makes Naomi Campbell Look like Laura Ingalls I recently read two posts over on http://www.scarymommy.com one was called "<a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/never-trust-a-trick-baby/" target="_blank">Never Trust a Trick Baby</a>" and the other one was called "<a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/i-gave-birth-to-a-feral-child/" target="_blank">I Gave Birth To a Feral Child</a>". <br />
<br />
They not only had me laughing out loud but I now understand why I'm completely insane.<br />
I've scored on both accounts and I'm just waiting for "My Little Princes makes Naomi Campbell look like Laura Ingalls"<br />
<br />
See, Big Red was my trick baby. She came home and promptly slept through the night - And by all night I mean 12 hours. The kid slept from 8PM to 8AM at 4 WEEKS OLD! As an infant she would rather sit in her bouncy seat and watch the activity instead of being held. She would literally cry if you held her too much. She started putting herself to bed at 8PM when she was just 2 years old and still cant stay up much later than 10PM at almost 13 years old. She ate anything I fed her and it only took a look to stop bad behavior or a melt down. She was the perfect baby by all standards. She made me look good.<br />
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Unlike most 1st time parents I knew the trap...make me think I had this parenting thing under control and promptly give birth to the spawn of satan. I didn't fall for her trickery....it took me 8 years to be coerced into <strike>the spawn of satan</strike> my feral child.<br />
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I say coerced because in those 8 years I met and married D who didn't have his own children. He was upfront about wanting at least one of his own and I agreed to just one more. Somewhere along the line I actually thought I had this shit show of parenting under control.<br />
<br />
Then I had the feral child. (If you've read the story above you know what I mean.) Boy terrorist isn't freal in the sense that he barks or walks on all fours, but to paraphrase the article he's more related to Mowgli from the jungle book. He's wild, he goes one thousand miles a minute. Before he could crawl he was climbing the stairs. Before he could walk he was climbing on the counters. He's talked non stop since he exited the womb. Boy Terrorist is the by far the wildest of the bunch, but he is also most sensitive child. A mean look will reduce him to tears just as quickly as an exciting tv commercial will send him into hysterics. He will do anything for and to protect his sisters.<br />
It's like living with a unmediated bi-polar midget on a sugar high and some days it is pure hell. Other days he makes my heart melt (until he karate chops the dog and sprays shaving cream all over the room...then we're back to hell.)<br />
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Then came the tiny surprise. She has held true to both of her nick names (The surprise & Tiny Terrorist). <br />
She is tiny, not just because she is the baby, but she's also small for her size. That's where tiny ends though...there is absolutely nothing tiny about her personality. She runs the show. We're all still under her spell (for the most part) 3 years later and I'm pretty sure this is the way it's gonna go for the next 18 at least.<br />
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Her daddy thinks she can do no wrong, I see so much of myself in her I just have to laugh, her brother would literal lay down his life for her and her sister thinks shes a live talking baby doll. She does absolutely what she wants to and takes no prisoners while doing it. She has no fear of telling us straight up "Nope, not doing that", "Cause I don't want to" and "Leave me LONE!"<br />
She steals toys and candy from Boy Terrorist CONSTANTLY and he still can't tell her no when she asks him sweetly for just one bite of his candy only to stuff the whole thing in her mouth while smiling at him.<br />
Then there are her epic meltdowns and tantrums. She literally makes Naomi Campbell look like Laura Ingalls from little house on the prarie. She will throw what ever is in reach and fling herself on the floor screaming. With all of our kids we let them throw their tantrum ,but put them in their room to do it. They usually last 5-20 minutes; maybe 30 on good day. Not tiny terrorist - she's been timed at over an hour and a half.<br />
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I tell you all of this because I'm pretty convinced that I'm certifiably crazy, but I also know at least two other moms are as well. They felt so bat-shit crazy that theyalso wrote stories.<br />
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And I've got them all beat....I've got the fucking trifecta of crazy. Complete with Naomi Campbell peeing her pants in the corner cause she doesn't like the big potty only the tiny green one.<br />
I already feel better about the obscenities I screamed over thanksgiving break.<br />
<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7297587005597732719.post-43298811911610121972015-11-15T19:05:00.001-07:002015-11-15T20:28:22.915-07:00Apologies and Butt-Hanging Egg HoldersFirst off....sorry for the absence. I'm going to try to get back on these blog posts again.<br />
My kids are still doing maddening and hilarious shit, but life has been kicking my ass.<br />
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Not my personal commitments,but preschool, gymnastics, wrestling, showing up at middle school...every day shit that my little terrorists require of me.<br />
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Anyway, I'm gonna make it a point to try and do these more often.<br />
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I'll start with the boy terrorists most recent request - for what I can only assume is a toy.<br />
You see he has this really fucking irritating habit of asking for every.single.toy he's sees on every.single.commercial that airs from 8am to 9pm. Literally every toy....and we must stop all household activities to look at the TV, see what he wants and tell him no. (I don't think he understands patterns yet...or he's trying to wear me down)<br />
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Tonight a commercial for a pink ice cream maker was the coveted item that halted dinner. <br />
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This conversation led to the other "Toy" that he wants. <br />
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He spoke clearly, was VERY descriptive and even acted out the way the toy works.<br />
I still have no fucking clue what this child wants and I'm even more concerned as to what the hell kind of TV he was watching with granny!?!? <br />
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The "toy" apparently has a beak and a string that attaches to your ass which holds a real egg and you bounce....what in the actual fuck? <br />
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Anyone care to throw me a bone here? Does my kid want a game or a sex toy????<br />
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Check out the BT explaining this....I can't even make this shit up!!<br />
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<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02816581751709089274noreply@blogger.com0