"Welcome to Our Home...Please Kill My Dog"

**Note:  Russ AKA: The Russ That Killed Libby did elaborate...see below for details that I forgot.

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.

I didn't say:
I have this shit down 
or 
I've got this 
or 
I'm a human raising pro....

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.
(I am convinced that the ringing in my ears that I hear off and on is a running total of therapy dollars though....)

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.

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")

Feel free to jump in and elaborate boys.....

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...

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.

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.

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.

....Until The destroyer of innocence ruined it all.

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.
X
Nope, not us....we are the living breathing representation of a hot fucking mess.  Of course it wasn't that easy.

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.

The response I get from Daddy-Death:  "I'm just giving you shit" and "He's already gone"
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!

Until the destroyer of innocence ruined it all....
Apparently, when they got home Derek asked Russ if he'd mind taking Libby to have her put to sleep.

IN.FRONT.OF.THE.TERRORISTS.

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.

In hindsight maybe I should have run down the farm story to Daddy before leaving...
So the terrorists begin to ask questions.  From what I gather Daddy was short but brutally honest.
"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"

HOLYSHITBALLS!!! 

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 "to see them stick the needle in her neck"

(Side note here: I think I was wrong on the serial killer predictions...It's gonna be the tiny one)

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.

The boy smiled from ear to ear

Until Tiny Satan Terrorist leaned in and whispered to him  "that farm is in heaven with Jesus"  and walked away....

We might have sucked at parenting this weekend, but Lannie overshadowed it by being FUCKING EVIL.  

I'm not sure if I should be grateful for the smokescreen or if I should start hiding the knives....

From RUSS - AKA: THE RUSS THAT KILLED LIBBY:

Russ You left out all the best parts!

Ashley It was so long tho...write it in!!!

Like · Reply · 38 mins

Russ 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 them 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.

Like · Reply · 1 · 32 mins

Ashley  Hahaha!! Keep adding them and I'll update the post when I get home. Didn't Lannie introduce you to Libby too?

Like · Reply · 31 mins

Russ  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

Like · Reply · 28 mins

Ashley So I need you to commit to at least 3 more trips back up here....

Like · Reply · 25 mins

Tiffany  What, you going to have him kill 3 more dogs?

Like · Reply · 23 mins

Ashley  When it's their time not tomorrow. 2 dogs and a cat actually - besides he's familiar with the process now

Like · Reply · 1 · 22 mins

Tiffany Lmao! You ass monkey!

Like · Reply · 20 mins

Russ Haha, I'll come as long as you buy the ticket. Might want to do it all at once though, save you some money

Like · Reply · 19 mins

Tiffany  Ya'll should get the story straight too. You know, the one that's about the farm in heaven with Jesus.

Like · Reply · 17 mins

Russ Or we could just keep D from the kids

Hello My Name is Ashley and My Kids Make Me Seem Like an Alcoholic

To strangers...

Bringing the kids to the liquor store has always made me feel weird....like I was bringing them to a crack house.  (I know, I look like I have my shit together, but this is the weirdo shit that runs through my brain: liquor store +toddler= crack house)

I feel like everyone's looking at me and thinking "Look at that lady, she can't even take her kids home before getting that barrel of booze"...Well, that and I generally don't bring the terrorists anywhere in public - definitely not a store full of breakable glass bottles.  (I call them terrorists for a reason)

Daddy's a little more sane than mommy and a lot more adventurous.  He takes the terrorists EVERYWHERE!

This is typically a good thing.  They get fresh air, they see the sky....mommy stays home and has peace and quiet.

Well as it turns out Daddy's been taking them to the liquor store.  Now I know it's not an actual crack house and on the surface you're thinking "SO WHAT"
Here's the deal...the liquor stores give out suckers (lolly pops, dum-dum's, whatever they're called).  Boy terrorist likes them A LOT...

This is the little sucker addict here...prob pouting because he has no sucker

 I was shocked a few weeks ago when we drove by the LQ  (liquor store for short) and my son screamed "Stop at the sucker store mom! I want a sucker!"Mainly because he actually recognized the place.  This went on for a few weeks.  Annoying if I was in a hurry but harmless and kind of cute.

What was not cute was when we went to the grocery store and my son had an all out meltdown because he wanted to go to the liquor store for suckers (we pass by it on the way tot he grocery store).
"I WANT TO GO TO THE LIQUOR STORE!!!!....puuuuulease Mommy, bring me to the liquor store."    This went on the entire shopping trip.

No, the little shit didn't follow that with "because I want a sucker"  he just kept begging me to take him to the liquor store like a 40 year man old man hell bent on starting a week long bender.....

I think I would have gotten less looks had I lit a cigarette and asked him to hold it for me while I shopped.

This is why we don't do "public"
This is also why I better never be stuck in a nursing home.
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As a side note this is what happens when Jaxon tries to be and hold his sucker at the same time....
Unfortunately I don't have a picture of him. He was in a corner crying because  we wouldn't let him keep sucking on it....

That's the sucker

Removing the sucker with a grabber tool...

And We'll Call Him Benjamin...Benjamin Button

Sorry for the lack of posts lately.  I don't know if it's the fact that it's summer and we're stupid busy or if we've just quit being shocked by our kids antics.

Who am I kidding...the kids never fail to shock us -  they're fucking insane.  But the fact that it's summer brings me to the latest of the boys antics.

HAIRCUT TIME!
I should explain...my son normally gets haircuts at the salon.  He needs them about every 20 minutes or so.  Seriously, the kid has more hair than I do.

Now that it's summer haircuts switch to homemade.  It's finally warm enough to buzz the boys head, which translates to saving $30 every 2 weeks so I'm all in.

This whole process is also made easier because Daddy shaves his head too and we all know whatever Daddy does is cool.   The difference here is that Daddy shaves his head because the hairs on top aren't keeping up with the hairs on the side.

Until a few weeks ago we just assumed that this minor detail had gone unnoticed by the boy...

Back to the haircut:
So, D takes the boy terrorist upstairs to shave his head.  No more than 45 seconds later my son comes barreling down the stairs with one bald strip shaved into the middle of his noggin crying.  It appears as though he's changed his mind.  NOT a good stopping point.

We get him back upstairs and talk him back into shaving the rest of his head (as long as mommy does it).  I proceed to shave off the remaining hair on the top of his head.  As soon as I get to the side section right above his ear he starts crying again.

Confused,  I ask him what's wrong this now.  Following is the remainder of our conversation:
Me: What's wrong bud?
Jax: I want my hair like daddy's (still sobbing and ducking away from the clippers)
Me: That's what we're doing,  I'm shaving your head like daddy's
Jax: NO YOUR NOT!!!  You're shaving my all head! (translates to you're shaving my whole head)  I  want mine JUST like daddy's!!!

At this point I look at Derek - who hasn't shaved his head in a few weeks.  The realization hits me and I started laughing so hard I had to sit down.  D still looks a little lost at the whole scene.
Through my laughter and tears I manage to explain to D that what Jaxon wants is the same haircut (or lack of) that he has at that exact moment.

My 3-year old child has just asked me to shave a cul-de-sac onto his head.  And he's fucking serious!!!
I stop and put him in front of the mirror...and show him what he looks like:

Me:  This is what you want?  (Because even though he stated he wanted "Daddy's Hair" I assume when he sees it he'll change his mind.  Hell, even Daddy doesn't want Daddy's haircut.)
Jax: Yep, like Daddy's.  Long on the sides.

We didn't actually let him keep that fiasco on his head...instead daddy shaved his "all head" to match Jaxon.

Had I known that my son wanted to look like Benjamin buttons I would have been more careful about shaving the top into a perfect cul-de-sac so he could have at least sported the do for a few days.

The bonus to all of this....We found the kids Halloween costume!!!

The Trouble Is....You Think You Have Time

I can't seem to get you off of my mind lately, which is odd for me... I don't dwell.
I learned a long time ago that it is impossible to change another person or a situation that isn't yours.  Instead you have two choices:  1)accept it for what it is and be happy or 2)don't and move on.

You taught me that such a long time ago.  Probably far too early, but I learned that lesson multiple times over the years.

I spent years wondering what I could have done, what could have been different, why you weren't willing to change for me.
I spent so much time angry.  Angry that I wasn't enough.  When I didn't have the energy to be angry anymore I was hurt.  I was hurt and insecure.

Being a young women embarking on life is hard enough, but doing it with the baggage of a father who chose to be absent was daunting.  I never felt like I was truly enough. Never really worth it.  That rippled through to everyone that was a part of my life.  You really made life hard for a few men in my life.  I spent years expecting everyone to leave and doing everything I could to not be dependent on another human being for my happiness or fulfillment.  I hurt a lot of people solely because I was unwilling to risk the chance of being hurt myself.

I don't know when that changed or why precisely, but over time I realized that your actions really had nothing to do with me or how much love you had for me.  Your demons were yours alone.  I came to understand that you loved me the best way that you could.  You didn't love me any less, only differently, but it was everything that you had.

It took me almost 26 years to accept you for who you were and to love you in spite of it.  I learned to accept the limitations that our relationship would always entail and to cherish what we did have.  It was sporadic and messy and complicated in ways that only an addict can cause.

But I loved you in spite of it.

That last year was one of the best. I heard from you more often.  We talked without pretense.  I think you finally felt like you could pick up the phone and just talk.  No need to try to explain or apologize for most recent the absence.  Maybe the fact that I had a family of my own took some of the pressure off.  We were getting caught up.  Getting to know each other for the first time as two adults.

There were so many important things I wanted to talk to you about.  I wanted to tell you everything that I'm writing now.  To tell you that you changed me in ways that you probably never even knew.  I wanted to tell you that I'm not angry or resentful.  Just the opposite, I'm thankful for every misstep, every let down, every hard lesson I've learned.  They've all made me who I am.  Because of you I know I can handle most anything thrown my way.  I can deal with uncertainty, and the overcome any insecurity.  I can walk away from anything that isn't good for me and I can be enough for myself.

There's so much I wanted to know from you...about you.  What were you like as a little boy?  Who was your first love? What were your hopes and dreams when you brought me home from the hospital?  Did I make you proud?

Why are you so broken?  That's the one.  The question that haunts me still.  The one question I never had the nerve to ask.  I wish I would have taken the chance of the conversation turning awkward, just so I could tell you that you were ALWAYS enough.  To me you were always enough.  You are my daddy and no one could ever replace that.  No mater what you saw as your failures; regardless of the absences; what you were capable of giving was ALWAYS enough to me.

I thought I had time. I thought we had time.  I thought I had all the time in the world to say these things.  I thought you'd grow old and maybe even grow up. 

I knew that while you were alive there was always a chance of you getting better, getting help, being the kind of grandfather that I know you could have been.

That's been the hardest thing of all.
Letting go of that hope that I always hid closest to my heart.
I already know how to live with your absence, but I still haven't figured out what to do with all of my hopes and dreams for you.  All of my secret (and maybe foolish) hopes and dreams for our future.

See,  I learned to live without you a long time ago Daddy, but I never gave up on you and I'm not sure what to do with all of those dreams now that you're gone.

I wish I would have known that goodbye was coming I would have sent my dreams with you.  At  least you could have known all the faith I still had in you.

9/16/2016-  Wanted to show off some of my new ink.  After writing this piece I decided that the saying "the trouble is you think you have time" didn't just relate to this experience in my life, it's a constant thing I remind my self of.   I spend so much time trying to get through the day and get everything done that I sometimes forget to enjoy today.  I don't want to look back on the next 10 years and wish I had enjoyed the present more.  I don't want to miss out on time with My Little's because I'm hurrying to get the dishes done.  I try to remind myself to treat each day like it could be my last...what would I do if I knew I didn't more time.

So, much to the horror of my mother I went and got it tattooed on my body.  Sorry mama but I love it!

Secrets & Pigs

The boy terrorists hates naps and he hates going to bed (He still NEEDS naps though) .
He will find 15 million reasons to stay out of bed or get up out of bed to prolong this atrocious sentence imposed by the cruel dictators who run the house.

This usually involves asking to pee, getting water or needing to "tell you something".
The latter has been the most prevalent as of late.  We've begun to stop him at the stairs and make him tell us his news from the landing. (His bedroom is upstairs and the living room is downstairs.  He was able to turn that whole trip into a 15 minute excursion)

Boy terrorist

This kid is maddening, but I've got to hand it to him he's smart...he's changed his tactic.  Lately he comes down and tells one of us that he needs to tell us something "in our ear" before we can send him packing.

The husband and I  being as curious as we are fall for it every time.  (typically he just tells us he loves us or needs to pee.)
Usually this is just frustrating and we get fairly annoyed, but "the secret" last week still has us laughing.
I thought I'd share:

(As told to my by the hubby:)
I worked Friday of last week so D was home with the kids alone. He put them both to bed.  Girl terrorist was down for the count.  Boy terrorist had shared his 57 secrets and was assumed to be asleep.  D settled in and decided to play a little PlayStation (New Christmas Gift)
The game of choice was Grand Theft Auto.  A totally unsuitable game for kids - which is why he waited till the terrorists were asleep.  (The game in a nutshell - you steal cars, walk around and beat people up and do "missions".)

Anyway, in this particular instance Derek was running the player around the city and came across a pig.  He kicked the pig out of the way (IN THE GAME - he wouldn't kick a real pig)  and went on about the game.
A while into his game D hears the boy terrorist making noise at the top of the stairs and tells him to get back in bed.

Par for the course, Boy Terrorist needs to tell him something - "in his ear".
Derek pauses the game and tells him to come down and say what he needs to say.  (Fully expecting "I love you" or "I need to pee")
Instead, Boy Terrorist leans in and says "Daddy, don't kick pigs".
With that he walked away and went to bed...

I don't know if it's the unexpected or if we're just a little nuts, but we haven't been able to stop laughing about it all weekend.
D will lean over to me and whisper "Don't kick pigs" and I die laughing.
I think we have issues...

The end.

This is what we resort to when he wont sleep...