I'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....)

Go ahead with your stroke or convulsion.
I'll wait....

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.
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.

I literally got up from taking a NAP to yell at the husband for putting the dishes away too loudly.
SERIOUSLY, I DID THAT.  I AM A GIANT DOUCHE!
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.

Back when I still smoked  - look how happy we both are

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
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)

Poor D endured another day of this shit show (and never once called me a bad name or pushed me down the stairs)
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.

I don't deserve his kind of goodness

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.

In the past (when I still had my self-respect) whenever I came across a "vaper" you could literally hear my eyes rolling.

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.

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.

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.

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)

I think the hardest part in quitting for me is that I still really liked my cigarettes.

I even made smoking look artsy fartsy fancy

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.

I never really wanted to quit in truth.
I wasn't "DONE" or sick or angry.
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.

Not me.
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)

Even now, after having two cigarettes that tasted like garbage I still miss my damn smokes.
"I know I could enjoy them again if I just give it 3 days and a pack of Marlborough Lights"  (That was my actual though after realizing the taste wasn't as good anymore...)

I didn't quit because I wanted to.
I didn't quit because I want to be more active with my kids.
I didn't quit because I wanted to save money and I didn't quit because it was currently affecting my health.

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.  

So why did I quit?
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.)
It gets better...Have I mentioned my stellar genetics?
The Moms has had cancer 3 times,
My dad died of cancer (and stupidity),
Both grandfathers had cancer (one of them had 2 different types I think),
An uncle had some other kind of cancer.
And this is only in my immediate family.

I'm playing with losing odds and I'm terrified.  (Clearly, I'm also a REALLY fucking slow learner)

I'm finally angry enough to quit.
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.
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).
I'm angry that I won't really know if I've caused irreparable damage until it's too late.
I'm angry that I did this willingly and knowingly.
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.

This is what I do now....awesome

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.

I don't crave a cigarette first thing in the morning anymore and the smell is actually starting to bother me; not entice me.

I'm not even using the douche pen as often as I was in the beginning.
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.

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..
(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?)

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.

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.

Yep I'm All outa F*%$'s Too.....

I read the best article EVER today!  It's called "20 Signs I'm Too Tired To Mom"  it's over on ScaryMommy and you can read it for yourself, but here are a few highlights:

"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.."  

and

"My daughter is sleeping in her clothes, AGAIN...."

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:

This is Landry today at 3:00PM.  She has Elsa slippers on her feet....at daycare....on purpose.

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. 

As a matter of fact she not only showed up to daycare in slippers she had on the matching nightgown as well. (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 was all out of fucks y'all. 

And it's only Monday....


 

Mommy Buys a New Phobia

I wish I had a good funny blog for you today but we've had a sick terrorist.
I haven't done much but be at her little unreasonable beck and call since Friday, so if something happened I missed it in passing.

I do have a "Here's your sign moment" from Children's Hospital....

So, I had no idea girl terrorist was even sick.  She wasn't extraordinarily fussy or puking or pooping on furniture like the rest of my kids do when they're sick.  She was just a little clingy.

Doesn't look sick does she?

Anyway, I only noticed that she felt warm as I passed by and kissed her on the forehead.  When I got the thermometer out and took her temperature it read 104.6!
 (I couldn't remember what dying temp was so I wasted another 20 minutes googling "when will a fever kill a two year old" - according to Google  it's somewhere from 104-107.  Helpful.  Also, NEVER google your kids health.  I was able to diagnose her with no less than 17 life threatening conditions in under 10 minutes.)

I gave up and called the nurse line at Children's.  She initially told me to bring tiny in then said not to, just watch her temp and bring her in before 105...(which was why I was going to bring her in at 104.6...but whatever)  We motrin-ed up and waited.  The fever broke and then it spiked to 104.9.  I gave her Tylenol and headed in to Children's.

Of course her fever broke the second they called us into triage.  I gave them my story and he took her vitals and sent us to a room.  Doc came and and I gave her the same spiel. So now I'm sitting in a room at the ER with a basically perfect looking kid with no fever, no runny nose, no gash, no broken bones.  Telling this lady that my kid did have a stupid high fever only 15 minutes ago and it's happened twice already today.

All while sick fever child is playing happily in the corner totally not helping me to convince the doctor lady that she is actually sick.  When the Dr. asked her how she felt she even said " pretty good" in her happy little voice.  (I called her a damn traitor in my head) 

Anyway we get dismissed with a diagnosis of a cold (because I think she felt sorry for me) but she did give me the following instruction:
"High fever wont do any damage until it hits 107 degrees.  But if she peaks over 105 bring her back.  Oh, and keep an eye out -  if her fever spikes fast she could have febrile seizures.  Definitely bring her in if she has those"

WHAT??? Just like that?  By the way she could have seizures?!?! Thanks for that bit of info...I wasn't worried enough but add seizures to the mix.  That totally calms me.

And since I brought her here for nothing once already It's super likely that I'll need your persuasion to bring her in if she starts seizing on my couch.  Not sure I needed the extra info, but I'll be sure to freak out and have a mini-stroke every time she flinches or sneezes...because that could be the beginning of febrile seizure of course.  Commence creepy staring at the 2-year old for the rest of the day...

We were generally able to maintain a normal temp with Tylenol and Motrin and by Monday night the fever was gone as suddenly as it came.

This might be spider man...or a seizure....

No clue what caused it, but now I think one of my kids is always on the verge of a seizure...awesome.  Thanks Doctor lady...


What did I do this weekend?  Not much, just paid $60 to catch a new phobia.
How was your weekend?

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!

The Boy Has a "Problem" and His Sister is missing her Silver Spoon

I had a good thing going.
 For about 8-1/2 years I was pretty sure I had this parenting thing down.

Big red was an AWESOME baby.  She slept through the night at 4 weeks.  When she got older she slept on a solid 12 hour schedule (8am-8pm).  By the time she was a two all we had to do was tell her it was 8 o'clock and she scampered off to bed.  Not to be seen again until 8, sometimes 9 the next morning.  All blue eyes and baby cuteness.  By the time she was 4 she would ask us to go to bed (or fall asleep where she was sitting) at eight sharp.  She's 12 now and come 9-10PM she informs us shes exhausted and must go to bed NOW.  Big Red was a fluke!

I'm 3 years into raising my two demon-possessed, sadistic dictators precious quasi-twins and feel like I was totally scammed.  I haven' raised them any different (well, except for the nights these guys out number and exhaust me.  Then I hide in the shitter and eat their Halloween candy - I never hid from Red.  It was one on one back then....and I can still silence her with a look)

These guys are unrelenting.  I think the boy has a secret crack problem.  (That's the only explanation I can come up with for his lack of sleep and constant movement.)  It's starts with the sight of his pajamas, or socks, or Tiny Terrorists diaper, or letting the dogs out to pee....any slight movement at evening time alerts him to the possibility of bed time. (This can happen at 8 right before bed or at 6 when I'm changing Tiny's 16th crappy diaper of the evening - He's paranoid - crackheads are paranoid)  He immediately goes limp falls to the ground and wails about how he doesn't want to go to bed and he's not tired.  (Crack heads are never tired...)  I'm not sure why after 8 months of this exact same routine he hasn't caught on.  Mommie's tired too...kinda tired of dealing with shit like this and you WILL go to bed no matter what kind of show you put on.  Sometimes he walks, sometimes I carry him lovingly with his head on my shoulder and sometimes I hold him around the waist and drag him screaming and kicking, but he ALWAYS goes to bed.  Next comes the 1-2 hours of "requests".  Water, pee, just a hug, just a kiss, just want to tell you a story.  I'm not sure which is worse, but but I'm looking into children's ambien or a toddler rehab....

Par for the course Tiny terrorist won't be outdone and has her own production.  I'll have to take some of the blame for her because she's the baby and I pretty much cave to her demands.  But she's so stinking cute! (She also goes to bed willingly and can't open her door by herself yet).  She doesn't have any nefarious habits to speak of, but she's clearly been born in the wrong family.  I don't know who that family was, but she most certainly was designed to have a full time butler, maid, chef and court jester.  Before going to bed she demands her binky, and she demands to be picked up to retrieve it herself off of her dresser.  No, getting it for her will not do.  Next she needs to be tucked in and read her story.  Not any story ONLY "I Know My Daddy Loves Me" and ONLY daddy is allowed to read it.  Next she will require kisses from each of us, then she will put her little hand up and tell us "You leave now".  Once we are gone, her door securely shut and she has heard our footsteps down the stairs then (and only then) will she shriek out her demands for a sip of milk.  We have exactly 21 seconds before her world implodes and she thinks her faithful servants we have gone and left her to die of dehydration alone in her room.  She will take 5 sips and tell s to take it away.  Waiting until the door is shut to remember that she needs to be re-kissed.  She gives us her "I love you's"  and dismisses us again with the hand and "You go away now"

Sometimes I can take all this in stride and enjoy the absurdity of it.  I am able to acknowledge how cute my crazy demanding terrorists are and not lose my proverbial shit.  But tonight all I really want is 30 minutes of peace and quiet to pee alone and curse big red for the big fat lie she perpetuated.

God, she was an easy baby. Not a bad plan by the man up there I guess. Had Big Red acted like these two there wouldn't be a blog to read.  They give me good stories, but Big Read gave me amazing sleep.  She also made me think I knew what the hell I was doing...that was shitty of her.


In the moments that I have to hide in the bathroom I remember that one day in the future they will be teenagers who want to sleep all day and not be bothered.

Well....paybacks a bitch kiddos.  Get ready for bedtime stories and me waking you up at 2 am staring at you while you sleep poking you in the arm.  When you're fully awake and sufficiently creeped out....mommy's gonna need some milk.

Samuel L Jackson In My Kitchen

***Here's the warning this contains MF bombs...read at your own risk***

So anyway, we had a visitor last night...apparently Samuel L. Jackson was in my kitchen talking about chocolate. 

Let me set the scene:
It was about 8:30. The kids were playing in the playroom and D and I were on the couch watching TV.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Boy Terrorist head into he kitchen.  I was fully expecting him to ask for chocolate (he ALWAYS asks for chocolate).  What I was not prepared for was the way he channeled Samuel L Jackson when asking for said chocolate.

It went like this:
Boy Terrorist: Hey Guys..did you know your not supposed to say motherfucking chocolate?  It's not good to say that.
Me: Shocked and Speechless and stifling giggles (because I'm a stellar mother remember)
D: Jaxon! Come here right now!!
Jaxon walks over totally innocent looking confused
D: You are not supposed to say that word! EVER!  Do you understand me?! I don't want to ever   hear you say that again!
Boy Terrorist: OK, I was just telling you that it was bad of you. Can I have chocolate now?

He Looks so innocent...

And before anyone points at me...this isn't my doing!  Had he referred to it as Fu%$*# chocolate I would have taken the blame.  I'm well known to drop F bombs, but I don't ever drop the MF bombs.  No one does in real life.

Well except my Uncle Jimmy but he's like 80 and is old enough to say what he pleases...

Just Call Me Sprinkles-McFlurry

Wednesdays usually kinda suck.  Tonight it sucked extra.

Wednesday is gymnastics night for Big Red and Boy Terrorist.
This means that for one hour we're free from 2 kids (Tiny terrorist makes up for the other's absence - don't worry).
Gymnastics starts at 5PM which means its a mad rush from work to pick up all of the kids and deliver them to the gym.  (Derek picks up Kait ad I pick up the terrorists)
This also means there is no time to make dinner and we are stuck with 2 unreasonable little assholes by 6:30.

That's a typical Wednesday.
 Tonight sucked extra.

On the drive home the tiny terrorists bitched and moaned because the in-flight movie was too quiet, because the sun wasn't out, because the headphones were too big, because the headphones were to small, because the air smelt like cow poop, because one was looking at the other and because one of them had ugly eyes.

IT'S A 15 MINUTE DRIVE!!!!

When I got home I realized I had forgotten to put the roast in the crock pot this morning so we were shit out of luck for dinner. 

With little resolve and even less patience I let the kids pick what they wanted for dinner....and for once they agreed!
Ramen noodles.
(Don't judge me.  Besides, who am I to judge - I lock myself in the bathroom and eat old Halloween candy on the regular)

I stick the Ramen in the microwave and almost immediately they decide they want cereal.
I take a deep breath and decide I don't have it in me to fight this battle and start pouring the cereal.  On the plus side they're getting milk and grain.  (That's calcium and a vegetable in my book....)

As soon as the ramen is done I put it aside for Big Red (she likes that shit).
....And the terrorists start screaming for ramen now.  Clearly the cereal has turned horrible and inedible and 'm trying to poison them with it.

Begin full blown melt down mode.  Boy terrorist is flopping on the floor and tiny terrorist dumps out her ENTIRE bowl of cereal on the counter.  (Because what else do you do when you don't want your dinner)

It was like this....x2

It's at this point that I have visions of orphanages and running away to adult living communities in Arizona. Instead summon all of my strength to not go bat shit crazy and send everyone to put their nose on the wall. Screams of agony ensue for 3 minutes.

Everyone is released to finish their cereal dinner (Tiny gets a new bowl)
By this point I've called dibs on picking up Big Read from gymnastics (She doesn't get out til 8PM) Just so I can get the fuck away from the shit show happening in my kitchen.

Somewhere between me looking for my keys and sprinting for the door Daddy caved to the terrorists demands of tortillas.  He broke the cardinal tortilla rule though...HE TORE IT IN HALF!!! (Bad fucking idea - 1/2 tortillas really piss off terrorists.)

I left in the midst of another full blown toddler tortilla tantrum.
Crying, screaming, floor flopping, tortilla tossing.  I didn't even look back....

Thank God for my husband - he wasn't even angry that I left him without a second glance. 


I would have stabbed him with a fork if he tried to leave me like that.

I don't like toddlers. 

Who ever convinced me to have 2 babies 15 months apart should be kicked in the nuts....

I'm not naming names

 I know one day I'll probably miss this, but tonight I don't want to be mom.
I'm going to change my name and hide and I'm not coming out until they guess it correctly.

I'm pretty sure they'll never guess Sprinkles McFlurry...

 If you need me I'll be in my garage drinking a beer, chain smoking and reevaluating my life choices.
(and also thanking my lucky stars for the amazing man that wrangled our kids all alone tonight)

He really deserves a medal or a halo or something.

His Penis Was Angry.....

I can add "Angry Pee'er" to the list of shit I never expected to deal with...

I picked up the boy terrorist at daycare yesterday only to find out that he's an angry pee'er (oh he can also use the word "hell" in context also)

Apparently, Boy Terrorist had TWO accidents at school yesterday...
After each accident they changed him into his "back-up clothes".
 I only sent 2 outfits (and I thought that was overkill).  After accident #2 their only option was to put BT into a pull up and some borrowed daycare pants.

This did not go over well with the boy.  After they got his wet clothes off and came at him with a pull-up.  He yelled "What the hell are you doing" and proceed to pee on his babysitter. 
Not on the floor mind you.  Directly on the poor woman.

I didn't want to believe my son just peed all over a person so I decided to ask him what the deal was.  Here is our conversation:

Me: Jax, why did you have so many accidents?
Jax: I had to pee a lot
Me: What didn't you go to the bathroom
Jax: I was doing things  (ah well OK then...I remember that the next time I'm busy at work)
Me: So why did you pee on Mrs. Babysitter
Jax:  I didn't
Me:  Yes you did.  DO NOT lie to me - she told me you peed on her.
Jax: No, I didn't!  My penis did it!
Me: Jaxon, you have control of your penis and your pee.  You cannot blame things on your penis - it doesn't just do things on it's own.  That's not how it works.

Jax:  No my penis didn't want a diaper and it got mad and peed, I tried to tell it not to.  My penis doesn't listen.  You don't have a penis!  You don't know!  (Touché son, Touché)

Me: Well make damn sure your penis knows it's unacceptable to pee on people from her on out.  Next time you pee on anything other than the potty you and your penis are both punished!
Jax: You tell it
Me: I am not talking to your penis.  This conversation is over

I think I'm in for a whole hell of a lot of trouble if we're already starting with this..... 

Turds, Heists and Juice

Conversation I had with the boy terrorist last night while he was doing "his business":
I'm not going to add his grunts into the conversation but while you read this keep in mind the whole conversation is peppered with grunts - it sounds like the kid is trying to shit a Cadillac.

 J: Mooooommmm!  Come here!
Me: What's up dude?  Are you done? (I'm still the royal butt wiper)
J: No, I want you to talk to me 
Me: (Standing just outside the cracked door) Ok what's up? What do you want to talk about?
J: No!  Come in here and sit with me.
Me: Dude, no it stinks in there - you're pooping.
J: It's ok.  Come watch me.
Me: No, sorry man that's gross.
J: Come watch the poop come out of my butt.  (Looks at me like this is actually a plausible concept)
Me: That's disgusting Jaxon, you done yet?
J: No.  Look, I poop like Capone.  (The cat)
ME: What?
J: He makes turds too.
Me: Well yeah, but he shits in a box on the floor.  (God I hope he doesn't get any ideas)
J: Hey can daddy buy me a gun
Me: Maybe
J: I need 3 army guns
Me: Ok I'll let him know.  You planning a heist?
J: What's a heist? Can you bring me some Juice?
Me: Not while you're pooping.  Are you done yet?
J: Yeah but I'm just resting now
Me: Ok well when you're good and rested call me and I'll come wipe your butt
J: Read me a book while I rest in here?
Me: I'm walking away now
J: Are you getting a book?

These are the conversations I have EVERY.NIGHT.
One of us needs meds.

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...

Canceled Flights, Layovers and HUGE Penises

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

Terrorists on a Plane

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

Playing in the Rain in December

Rural Life Museum

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

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

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

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

This is Jaxon

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

Dick Jokes Wear You out....

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




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

Big Red is loving 1st Class

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

Lannie Poop-ted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The "Poop-stepper"

Tired of Hearing Myself Bitch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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
















Big Red

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

Boy Terrorist 

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

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

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

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

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

16 Ways to Ruin your Toddlers Morning

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

This was NOT taken at 6AM

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

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

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

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

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

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

And here they are:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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