I Need a Nap, a Xanax and a Margarita

Tiny Terrorist will be 3 on Sunday.
Boy Terrorist is 4 and Big Red will be 13 in just over a month.

Yes...that's her everyday sass

My babies are growing up.

I don't know whether to cry, throw a party or move out of the house.

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.

I feel like I'm living in the mind of bi-polar person.....on drugs 

This morning I got the full spectrum from cleaning up pee to making make-up pit stops.
Here's the summary of my morning (6:00AM - 8:00AM)

• 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) 

• 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.

• 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) 

• 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)

• 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)

• 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" 

• 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....

• 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.

No actual "Googly-Eyes" - Shes absolutely beautiful

• 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...)  

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.....

To The Biggest Terrorist on His Birthday

I've been hanging on to this one for quite a while now...never really having the right time to post it, but then I thought "What if a fucking buss hits me and no one has the password to my account".

I thought 2 things

1. I need to designate an online custodian of all of my stuff
2. Why wait for a good time...I don't even plan my kids why in the hell would I plan a freaking blog post.

This one is for my Bonus Son...Connor.
The original terrorist and the most beautiful disaster.

Haircuts=good=not homeless looking

  I started this around your birthday but got sucked into the vortex of work so I just wrote you a FB post instead.  I'll finish this now...it has a happy birthday meaning, but I'm not rewriting it, so deal.

First I want to tell you that you scared the the holyfuckingbatshit out of me!

Here I was just starting a relationship with D and not only does he have a teen stepson the kid is a fucking NIGHTMARE!!!  (Yeah, I remember your mom and D driving around at all hours of the night.)  On top of that he's a teen...who can speak and choose to hate me.  UGH!

Oooh...and then I got the stories....all of the shit you had done in the past.  Jesus dude....just jesus.
So I had this opinion formed of you from the get-go.  I was pretty certain we wouldn't be that close if at all.  You'd be some dick head young adult that didn't like me and I wouldn't like you. I figured that we'd spend the next years chasing you around and dealing with your shit....if you chose to be a part of our life at all. I wasn't even sure I wanted you around my daughter or Jaxon at first.  I knew you'd be a constant link to your batshit crazy mother who despised me on a good day (I adore her now...but we're talking then)

It was tentative at first.  You met up with D and met the kids, but I wasn't included.  I wanted to be a real bitch and tell Derek and you to both fuck off.  That wasn't the deal you see.  You didn't get to have a relationship with MY husband and MY kids but not include me.  Then I remembered a few things.  You had him first...my husband that is.  You drove him crazy and you two didn't get along, but he was yours first.  I also remember being that kid.  The one who lived through the divorce of my parents when I was little and then the divorce of my mom and step dad when I was a young adult. I still remember what that feels like - your whole life being flipped upside down, ripped open, re-arranged and not having any say in any part of it. It was maddening because while it might not have been a perfect life it was mine and I was comfortable there.  I remember the new girlfriends and spouses.  I especially remember the really shitty one.  The one who didn't like me and made my step-dad choose.  When he didn't choose me I was heartbroken and angry.  Angry was an understatement.  Even worse I felt vulnerable, because I understood clearly after that that our relationship wasn't the same as my mom.  He didn't just HAVE to love me - either of us could walk away without reason.  I thought about that a lot in terms of you and my own daughter.  I never wanted her to feel that way.  That she was just an expendable relationship to Derek - that he could walk away.  I never wanted you to feel that way either.

So on your birthday (along with cash of course) I want you to know some things.  Things that might seem trivial now (cause at 22 and broke - $200 is way better than all the warm fuzzies in the world.  It's cool I know this...I was 22 and broke once too)

Most importantly you will NEVER be replaceable.  You are not an option or a relationship that I could ever walk away from.  You are NO different to me than any of my other 3 (you can buy booze and you don't shit your pants anymore so you actually have a leg up...but don't tell them that)  There is nothing on this planet that you could do or say to change this. If Derek dies tomorrow and I am left with no "real" connection to you I will still be your bonus mom.  I will hunt you down and check up on you and take care of you and tell you you're being a dumb-ass when you are.

Secondly, I was correct....you are a disaster.  But like I said earlier you are a beautiful disaster.  Every bad choice, and shitty plan and failed attempt has made you who you are.  It's made you humble and funny and gracious and loving.  No matter where you go or what you do don't ever lose those qualities.  You have the ability to laugh at yourself  - don't ever lose that either.  Life is a mother fucker.  It never gets easy the bills never go away.  The struggles change but generally they just get more expensive.

You will make some hideous decisions in life.  You will embarrass yourself and probably us too in the process. Don't ever let that stop you from moving forward.  I promise to tell you when you are being a moron and give you unsolicited advice even though I know you'll only take abut 2% of it. I also promise that none of that will ever change our love for you.  We will always be your home, the place you can come to if you need to get away or if you have no where else to go or if you just want family time.  You don't need to make an appointment or call.  If we're not home sit your ass down in your living room and wait...you ARE a part of this family.  This isn't limited by the amount of screw ups or how often we see you or what order we see you on for Christmas.  This just is.

You remind me so much of myself growing up.  Especially the whole tendency to take the most difficult path even though the easy one has been laid out 900 times by one of your parents...it's cool...been there and I'm still pretty much like that. It's ok to take our advice, but I get it when you don't.

Thank you for choosing to be a part of our family.  I know you could have walked away.  Thanks for taking that chance knowing I could have been a horrible bitch to deal with.  Thanks giving me someone to relive "the crazy days" with and for giving me a kid that I can hang out with and talk to and not have to monitor homework or bodily functions.  Thanks for getting my skewed sense of humor and not getting offended when I call you a dumb ass or laugh at your most recent debacle.

Lastly, I have one request for you.
You are the oldest of our kids and the one who remembers it from the beginning.  If anything ever happens to us it will be up to you to keep the little guys together and to keep our memories and stories alive, but most importantly when we are old and senile you will be in charge of setting up our nursing home.  Make sure all of those little bastards chip in because I don't wanna be holed up in Good Sam. in freaking Greeley.  I expect Boca or somewhere on the coast.  If you fuck this up I WILL haunt you....just saying.

Happy Birthday to my Biggest Terrorist  !  May you continue to grow and get better with age (and get more haircuts) but never change who you are on the inside.  That's already perfect.

I love you all the skittles in the world!