Kids are disgusting.
It’s like “Hey, the trash can is literally 5 feet away from the couch, but lets just shove everything under the couch instead”
Makes total sense.
I pull my couches from the wall at least once a week, however by looking at it…you would totally think I was lying. And if I didn’t do this….the smell that would emanate would kill a 10 thousand pound moose in moments. Trust me on this, I know things.
About a week ago while doing this disgusting chore, I was bitching to myself that this was NOT what I had planned as a kid. You know….when teachers ask the class, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Never.ever. did I ever say, “I want to be a house mom cleaning up petrified lizards and cereal (which I haven’t bought in a year, so where the hell did it come from?) out of my couch.”
Instead I said stupid shit like, “I want to be a wonder woman-ballerina who can fly a fighter plane, while always wearing red cowboy boots and a sombrero.” Which is funny, because I sucked at ballet. (I still love red boots) In fact, I would have been better off saying I wanted to be a bulldozer or a trash truck, because that would have made more sense.
So back to the couch…
One sippy cup…sporting curdled milk.
What looks to be a petrified lizard (I was serious) or maybe a mouse with no fur…
Two ninja turtles with no head
1 G.I Joe head (Beginning to see a pattern with heads)
6 empty beer cans (which I am sure were on the side table at one point, but if you are going to shove everything in the couch, may as well throw dads beer cans in for good measure)
One chapstick without the stick (8 is an avid chapstick eater)
One half chewed pigs ear (That I am sure the dog has been looking for)
4 unmatched socks
Crust to what looks like peanut butter and jelly sandwich
600 legos (maybe 4)
Mouth guard number 6754
and a hand towel…that is not even from this house.
We are only missing Jimmy Hoffa. Unless that was the petrified lizard.
It doesn’t matter how many times I yell out, “Throw all you shit away!” or “If you are going to eat that…I better not find it in my couch later.”
Doesnt matter how many times I explain to them that no one else (aside from hoarders) live like this. I mean, when are you ever going to need that half eaten apple?
It’s really hard to find all the smells in a house full of little men, without losing your shit. At one time the basset hound was my biggest adversary. She would find, concur, and then eat all smelly things. Can’t tell you how many popsicle sticks (Kid you not) and legos that bitch has shit out in her time… but now…
Now she is 16 and I think along with her ears and eyes…even her smell is now broken…or she just got sick of trying to keep up with them.
I have even thought over the years (dreamt) about hiring a maid. But who in their right mind would be able to handle, let alone keep up with my kids? It would take a whole cast of maids and I ain’t got money for that.
So if you ever come for a visit, all I ask for…Please for all that is sacred…Do NOT ever put your hand in a couch cushion, or look under the couch!
Cheers! Happy Friday!
That hit me pretty hard.
The hubs and I have been married for a little over 20 years, which seems like forever, and barely a minute at the same time, depending on our moods and I suppose what cycle the moon is in.
We had only known each other for four months when we tripped and fell into a courthouse, eloping. Everyone was pissed. Of course, that kind of whirlwind romance should end quickly.
Statistically we should have been divorced within the first 5 years…2 years if you toss in the new baby I started popping out every year.
Those first 5 years… they were the most brutal. Hell…maybe even the first 10. What saved us? We were two bull-headed people, who could not accept failure. We would not prove everyone right.
It helped that I was crazy head of heels in love with the big brute.
The hubs and I came from totally different families, none of which was healthy…this meant that neither of us had any clue what the fuck we were doing, let alone a great example of a good marriage.
The hubs parents divorced when he was small, only to move back in with each other because of money, and in my opinion their codependence on each other.
They spent the majority of their lives together fighting and talking down to each other. They were never happy, which spread to the kids.
His mother was always working, while his father would spend years sleeping on the couch, drinking himself to death.
My folks were different. They were married, seemed to love each other, but never fought. I mean, they would disagree, but there was no slamming doors, yelling… My father never went against anything my mother said. She ruled the roost per say…
Sounds great right? Well…it was, until I was married and had no fucking idea what the hell I was doing, let alone how to fight without killing each other.
I would get so damn angry and think I was a horrible person because I voiced how I felt. If the husband yelled or I slammed a door, I felt like a total failure as a wife, mother and person.
Dont get me started on what would happened when one of us lost our shit and threw something…
Things would get ugly and sometimes outright hateful.
Things were broken (a lot of things were broken), because breaking something physically, was far better than dealing with feelings. I hate feelings.
However, not everything was a bad example in my family. My parents always showed affection. This was probably the biggest gift they could have given me. This was something the hubs never saw, nor had.
Even saying I love you regularly, was taboo in his unhealthy household. This was something I needed and wanted for my boys.
I think in the real world, affection towards people gets lost sometimes. I mean, I can’t stand for people to invade my space and touch me,and don’t even get me started on the fact everyone thinks they need to fake hug you… however it is totally different when the husband enters my space.
I need him to touch me. I need to feel like he knows I am still here.
For the last year, (probably two) I have been a whiney tit bag. Part of it is I am getting older, and don’t look as good as I once was. I have my own insecurities that no one can change that but myself.
But none the less, the biggest thing of them all…our best friends decided to divorce, which seemed to come from nowhere, and it was ugly.
Their divorce shook everyone, because for 16 years they alway seemed pretty happy.
The divorce makes you question yourself, your marriage and your decisions….because if they couldn’t make it after 16 years, then maybe you won’t either. It makes you think all kinds of crazy shit…
Are we heading that way?
What has changed?
Does he still love me?
Would he tell me if he didn’t?
It makes you paranoid.
The bitch in my head tells me how worthless I am, and how outright mean my husband is… even when I know deep down he hasn’t done anything to prove her point.
Especially after all my weight gain and health problems. I mean… how is the chick in yoga pants who hasn’t moved from her bed in a few days attractive?
I have had a lot of hurt in my time…a lot of rejection and loss… especially by people who shouldn’t reject you. These are the things I start to think about –dwell on– when I go to my dark place and let the bitch take over.
I start to get angry, because anger is easier than hurt. I begin to blame him for all of my pain instead of blaming the people who have actually caused this insecurity.
And you know what he does? He laughs at me.
He says that even though I am batshit crazy, he still loves me.
He grabs my boob when he walks by, or smacks my ass when I bend over.
He tells me to go make him a sandwich and grab him a beer… to do women’s work…which then makes me want to punch him in the neck, and I tell him so. Which makes him laugh…I love his laugh.
And he walks in the door and woos me with a night out, and sticks around when others would have left. Hell… I would have left me… I’m exhausting.
It’s in writing this, that I can remind myself of all the reasons I believe we will be fine, despite others and the bitch in my head. That I can remind myself that others lives are just that. It’s theirs, and it has no reflection on how things should be for you.
Sorry for all the words…apparently I was in a sharing mood this evening.
This post was written last year to the school my son was attending. After years of frustration, I decided to write a blog post and forward it to my sons school.
Have you ever had to deal with one of those teachers? The kind of teacher who always gives you “that look.” The look like you are a horrible parent because they feel like you do not do enough for your child?
I have, and I am done with it.
I have come to the decision that I am checking out. I know it is not the responsible parent thing to do; however, I am just frustrated and burnt out. Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not saying I do not care about my children. I care about my children more than anything, which is why I have made this decision.
My son has struggled immensely in school from day one.
I have had so many parent teacher conferences over the years that it is becoming comical. My calendar is riddled with one appointment after another. Most of the phone calls that come in after 3:00pm are teachers and have been for almost six years. I even cringe now when the phone rings.
We have had an IEP, meetings with counselors, teachers, and principals, always hearing those same dreaded words.
“Your son is a dreamer!”
“Your son is unorganized!”
“Your son is behind.”
“Your son fiddles too much in class!”
“Your son will need to be retained!”
“Your son is always falling behind and doesn’t seem to take school seriously.”
“You need to work more with him at home.”
“You need to explain to him how important his education is!”
In addition, my all-time favorite, “Maybe you have too many kids and he is not getting the attention he needs at home.”
Now let me explain how heartbreaking this is to me.
My son is very sensitive. He is the one who is always worried about what people think about him, always worried he is disappointing.
He is the kind of kid who always needs encouragement.
He is the kind of child who cries when you are the one who is hurt, because he feels your distress.
He is the child who wants to help you so you have a better day.
He wants to befriend anyone he encounters, even if the other person does not return the same feeling…Which believe me. Happens more than I could ever understand.
He is the child who hugs you a 100 times a day, telling everyone he loves him or her because he feels everyone should feel loved.
He worries. About. Everything!
He genuinely loves school; he tries harder than most to please his teachers and do a good job, only to feel like a failure when he does not finish in the same time-period as everyone else.
He does not disrupt the class, does not sit and talk, throw things, bounce off the walls. He just sits. If he does not understand something, he stares out in space and becomes withdrawn because he is now to afraid to ask for help.
He learned early on that people get frustrated when trying to help him because he never seems to understand what they are asking.
He learned how awful it feels to have someone look at you with disappointment because you are slower than other people are, far earlier than any person should have, and that my friends, pisses me off more than anything.
We as a family take turns sitting down at the table with him for hours at night, helping him do homework and understand the work in front of him. As a parent, I am heart-broken and frustrated to no end. I spend my nights trying to calm down my anger over the situation, absolutely irritated that there is no help for my son. Why can they not see that just because a test he took in kindergarten says he does not have a learning disability, it does not mean he learns the same way other kids do?
Do you know what it’s like to watch your child cry while he tells you his brain is broken, because he doesn’t understand what we have explained a 100 times that night? Do you know how frustrating it is when you cannot help your child? How it feels to watch him go into a depression complaining about stomach aches, watching for months as circles develop under his eyes because he has stopped sleeping because he doesn’t want to go back to school and face his frustrated teacher. No 12-year-old should feel this way… EVER!
How do you look in your child’s eyes and give him the reassurance he needs when nothing else has ever worked?
How do you make a teacher understand that your child is not behind because of the negligence of his parents or because of the child’s lack of wanting to succeed? I am done pounding my head on the wall trying to explain what this is doing to not only my child, but to our family as a whole.
We have thought about pulling him out of school and homeschooling him, but when we have discussed this with our son, he breaks down and begs us to let him continue. He swears he will try harder; fearing we only want to keep him home because he is not good enough to go to a normal school, or because we need to punish him for not being “normal.”
I am tired. I do not want to fight the teachers anymore who do not care whether my child succeeds. I am tired of listening to the gripes about how poorly he does or how awful his last state test scores were. I am not going to allow my child to spend his lunches in detention every day, because he did not finish his timed math test or because he did not understand the directions to the story he was supposed to write. When is punishing him every day finally too much?
I am tired of hearing that I am failing him because his reading level is not what they believe it should be. I am tired of filling my son’s nights with arguments over homework or hours of practice reading trying to get his “scores” higher for the teacher.
I am tired of him not being able to enjoy being a kid. Playing with friends after school and on the weekends because his workload has been doubled — per the schools request. I am sick of hearing the threats of retention that make my son feel like no matter how much work he does it isn’t good enough.
We will continue with the help at home, the practice reads and struggles to help him understand. However, I will no longer allow them to make him feel like being different means he is broken, and I will no longer let other people break down my child before he ever has a chance.
Update: Things are still a struggle every day for my son, and he will always have a difficult time with things that come easy for others. But now… after someone from his school read this… they opened their eyes. He is now getting the help he needs. He even has his smile back. So please, if your child is struggling, know there are others out there that are struggling as well. Don’t allow yourself to get to the state I was in. Make them listen, because if you don’t…who will?
Boys are disgusting… and unless you have the patience of Job (which should really be spelled Jobe…but eh, it wasn’t me who wrote the bible), or a ton of wine/vodka/beer/xanax …no one should ever plan on raising 8 boys. It’s not for the squeamish or easily offended.
Why you ask?
Well, for one, you will NEVER own anything nice… EVER. And we won’t even discuss boogers, dirt, farts and other nastiness.
It took me years of yelling, fighting and threatening lives to realize this. And there are still times I revert back to stupid naive mom.
Why you ask?
Still to this day, none of my celing fans spin without crazy, off kilter wobbles. We have replaced more than I care to admit, which really makes my eye twitch. Reason for this debacle?
A. Someone will always throw something at it to see how far they can shoot the thrown object…
B. Someone will try to swing from it like something out of Road House, during a bedroom brawl…
C. A hockey stick will “accidently” hit it making it fall.
D. Someone will want to see if it could hold their little brother like at the ringling brothers circus, or on an adventurous day, the older brother will see if it can hold him.
E. They will see something in a movie that they wanted to try.
F. Cause why the hell not?
The only good thing that comes with it, is no matter how many times I threaten them death for the name of the kid who did it… they never snitch. This means if any of them go to prison, I will never have to worry about that label… so there’s that.
I remember the exact moment I realized that as the only woman… the mother… that I was fucked…like seriously fucked.
It was a Saturday, and the hubs and I decided to go out-of-town for the day on a little shopping and lunch trip. Five hours without us… What could go wrong?
Well… there was a full-blown hockey game going on with the boys and a bunch of friends.
In the house.
And Not just a small one. Think of Stanley cup, only without the million dollar players, ice, and cup.
They had pulled all the furniture out of the dining room and living room (we had wood floors). They had set up nets, laced up the skates, making sure to sport pads and helmets (because safety first).
I suppose I should be grateful there wasn’t booze or strippers involved, but then again it wouldn’t have taken me 3 hours to put the house back together, and another trip to find a new light for the ceiling fan that was the casualty of a last min score if it was all about strippers.
Over the years I have had full body holes in the wall where one kid pushed another kid… Not sure which kids because again… no one would snitch.
Then there was the time we bought the toy hauler… We had only had it a couple of weeks. took it out once, and as the hubs and I sat watching football (it was a sunday), drinking beer and eating crap food with a few friends, we heard glass shatter.
Of course like good little parents we ran out front to see what all the noise was about, hoping it was the neighbors but not so stupid that we were surprised it wasn’t.
All the kids were huddled together pretending like they were singing kumbaya or some shit. You know…hugging and trying to look innocent.
Turns out, the kids were playing a game of “Who can throw a rock over the house into the back yard (we lived on a ⅓ acre which meant you had to have muscle behind that throw), and the damn kid threw the rock over the house like the star pitcher for the Dodgers, and right through the damn toy hauler window. The brand new “Havent even got a license plate or paid the first payment” yet toyhauler.
Then there are the toilets that have been clogged with numerous hot wheels, spider man’s, underwear (yes underwear) and my favorite… the bar of soap that slowly slips down the pipes until you have to hire a plumber to tear out your front yard to get to the pipe.
If I added up all the money the hubs and I had to dish out just for damaged crap around the house, we could have probably made a trip around the world a few times by now. But no…we thought we could raise kids and come away unscathed.
I just hope the boys remember this when I have dementia and decide I want to hang from their ceiling fan.
What kind of stories do you have about your kids that make you think “What the Fuck?!” I would love to hear about it. Just leave it in the comments, or you can email me if you want to keep anonymous.
Shes a stay at home mom, he’s a cop. Both have sooo many things to look forward to, things they have no idea are coming. (Because young parents never do) It was funny and a little endearing to watch.
I remember the young parent years. We totally thought we had a handle on everything. Never needed advice, thought we knew it all.
I use to hate when mothers (mine included) would feel the need to give me advice about raising kids…Nursing…cloth or disposable diapers…
I read all the books…watched all the videos….
I was the master of parenthood by the time I was 4 mo pregnant.
Then out of no where the darn kid wouldn’t sleep…
He would arch his back and scream at a few months old if you didn’t swing him as hard as you could in the baby swing.
Teething was a nightmare….
Then one day, I was on the floor crying about what a failure I was, while the now two-year old, was drawing pictures on the walls with a sharpie…Which was after he had drawn all over the cat with that same marker. Yep…things suddenly became real.
However, still to this day I never give out advice to parents that don’t ask for it. I kind of feel like parenting is a slap in the face, and you will only figure it out when you sink…there’s rarely a moment you actually swim.
The New Dad guy, wanted to know if we allowed the boys to rough house. If it was okay if they wrestled with each other…
The look on new moms face was not happy about this question. See, not to veer off…but the hubs and I are not your typical churchy couple with a million kids like you see on TV. In fact, I am quite the opposite, which if you read my fanpage on facebook or even just read a few of my blog posts…you kind of have a feel for who I am.
I drink, have a ton of tattoos and by golly…I say fuck… A. lot.
Now don’t get me wrong. I am an educated woman. I have worked for the public, and can act like a lady when I feel the need. However, when I am not around people I work for, or the hubs grandmother… I act like myself. I like myself. And so do most people. Why hide who I am?
That being said, new mom had a different impression of me. So the cringe made sense to me. I mean, I suppose I look like the big mean off of Orange is The New Black… but sheesh. Get a grip woman, I am not the anti- christ!
I looked at him and with a voice of authority, told him I most definitely allow rough housing in our house. That all kids should be able to rough house.
Kids could get hurt!
I agreed, then explained that keeping them in a bubble will hurt them more.
They should learn to treat each other with compassion!
Just because you rough house, does not mean you have no compassion. Trust me…my boys are all very compassionate.
New Dad cheered with a big “I told you so”…and he may or may not have pounded his chest.
I tried to explain that kids need that kind of play. That it stimulates all parts of the brain. In fact I wrote a huge paper on the benefits in my sociology class a number of years ago. I even named a few doctors that have written studies on the benefits. However, she didn’t want to hear it. Which is fine. Those are her two boys, not mine. So I tried to change the subject to something less controversial for her.
It didn’t work. Which wasn’t surprising.
See, if theres one thing I totally get…It is having a strong opinion. The hubs and my close friends would love to tell you just how very strong and opinionated I am… However, sometimes… you have to take a look at the situation. Politics, religion, and views on how someone should parent… those could start wars. So lets not get too crazy with opinions. Especially with someone you do not know.
Throughout the weekend she would interrupt a conversation about something not so important to ask me things like… Do I spank?
Do my kids have mouths like a sailor because of my mouth? (That one made me giggle for a while)
What does my house look like?
See…the problem with my mouth is…well, I talk to them like I am writing my blog. I tend to take the humor of my life, and go with it. So it may or may not sound like I live in a frat house.
After our weekend, she either walked away thinking I was a heathen, or with the decision to NEVER have any more kids. Hell, maybe she thought both. Nonetheless, the new dad still doesn’t get his way. There will still be no rough housing allowed because someone may get hurt, and I think she has also decided to remove all ceiling fans in her home. (story for another day)
I get that is her decision… which is why I never argued with her. But folks…stop putting your kids in a bubble! Let them be kids. They will thank you for it! (and so will the husband you blew off.)
Hypothyroid disease is a crazy ass autoimmune disease that people who don’t have it, never understand. People hear an overweight person say they have hypothyroidism, and automatically assume they must be lazy and eat a lot. How could you not? Just look at how overweight they are. They couldn’t have become that way without over eating, right?
Over the years I have watched the frustration it has caused my husband. He may always say my weight doesn’t bother him… that he loves every bit of me… But how can he not have any regrets when he married a woman at 115 lbs and ended up with someone closer to 200?
Now don’t get me wrong, his frustration hasn’t been my weight, which I truly deep down past the ugly depressed teenage self that screams in my head… It’s my daily “I’m so tired” and the “I couldn’t move from my bed because I hurt all over…again.” that frustrates the shit out of him.
It’s not his fault. I would have got sick of me too… Because unless you live it, you never really understand what it feels like. How tired and depressed you are. You can only put on a pretty little face so often, without your cracks showing through. You spend a lot of time believing you are crazy.
Who in their right mind can sleep for 18 hours straight and feel like they haven’t slept in a month?
For a years, I had seen doctor after doctor. I had complained to anyone that would listen about how tired I was. Every morning when I would climb out of bed, my joints felt as if they were slowly breaking, while my brain felt like I was swimming in a pool of cold molasses.
Weight gain was by far, one of the most frustrating symptoms. Still is. It hadn’t mattered how little I ate, I would gain weight. I would hear things like, “eat less, exercise more”. (a classic line, even my husband has used) Because I of course, could only be gaining weight because I ate poorly right? It was the beginning of a nice little eating disorder.
Then my hair began to fall out. In clumps. My skin was dry, and all my limbs would swell. I would constantly forget the most simple of tasks. This made me beyond frustrated. Cleaning the house, and taking care of the kids was a nightmare. It caused huge fights between the husband and I because although I stayed home, I couldn’t muster the energy to do anything. My marriage was falling apart.
This wasnt me! I was not one of “those” people. I hated myself. The depression was sucking me in.
Doctors said it was all in my head.
I had 7 kids, so what the hell did I expect? Anyone with 7 kids would lose their hair and feel tired.
And I believed it. Feeling worse about myself. Why would such a terrible parent have 7 damn kids?
They said I had to be eating more than I claimed. That the food journal I was keeping was probably not being kept right. It hadn’t mattered that I documented every sip of water, to the piece of gum I chewed. They even went as far as putting me on antidepressants saying maybe I was just depressed. Guess what happens when you take antidepressants that you don’t need? You fall into an even darker hole.
So of course I ate even less.
Then one morning I was doubled over in pain, wishing someone would shoot me… putting me out of this misery. I had a small baby at that time. In fact 7 was only a couple of months old.
I had been prone to horrible bladder and kidney infections, so of course thats what I believed I had. My husband stayed home from work that day, and I drove the hour and a half to the doctor. (We lived in a very small town and always had to travel an hour and a half for medical care.)
When I got to the office, the doctor, (because of my history) had me pee in a cup, ran up some blood work, then sent me on my way with lots of pain meds and antibiotics. She claimed I was definitely suffering from a kidney infection. I couldn’t wait to get home and take the pain meds. I had wished the hubs and I had piled all the boys in the van and drove down with me just so I could dope up and sleep. But that just wasn’t the case.
The hour and a half felt like a week. My husband was outside in the front waiting for me. He had a strange look on his face.
“You need to turn around and go back to the doctor. In fact, they want you at the hospital.” he said.
I laughed at him. Why would I need to go back to the hospital?
“Call your doctor quickly, I will get the boys in the car.”
It was weird. I can’t explain it. He couldn’t even look at me and it was scaring me to death. When I called my doctor, the first thing she asked me was if I was on my way to the hospital yet?
She said that she had run a liver function test on me, and that I was in full-blown liver failure. She began firing questions at me left and right…
Have you ever been diagnosed with hepatitis?
Anyone ever have liver problems in my family?
Are you HIV positive?
Do you drink a lot of alcohol?
Do you use prescription drugs?
It was all so unreal… and absolutely terrifying.
So we made that hour and a half drive again. They tested me for everything she could think of. Finally I went in for an MRI, spent forever in the claustrophobic tube. All anyone could talk about was how jaundice I was. The husband kept saying I looked like something out of a creepy old movie with they way my eyes had glowed. No one would look me in the eyes.
For hours they ran blood panels and waited for the MRI results.
It has been 9 years since that night, and still to this day they have no idea what happen. The only thing we did find out was that my thyroid was almost non existent and I needed to start taking medication for it.
Within a few days, my liver jump started again. Everything started working fine, and my eyes no longer glowed orange. It still terrifies me to this day. How could they never figure out what happened?
Some doctors believe it had to do with my thyroid. Others believe I may have had a blockage. Either way, no one can tell me it won’t happen again. Which then ensued years of trying to get my thyroid levels under control.
I still have days where I don’t want to get out of bed, and the most simple task has me exhausted, but today…my good days far outweigh the bad. I am no longer in that dark place, and for some reason, that husband of mine has sticks by me. He’s a good dude for all that’s worth.
So the next time someone tells you they have Hypothyroid, give them a hug. They are working through a major life long struggle.
Symptoms of and caused by Hypothyroid disease:
Increased sensitivity to cold
Unable to conceive/ multiple miscarriages
Unexplained weight gain
Elevated blood cholesterol level
Muscle aches, tenderness and stiffness
Pain, stiffness or swelling in your joints
Heavier than normal or irregular menstrual periods
Slowed heart rate
So instead of answering these questions over and over, I figured I would do a blog post about me. Answering some of the same questions you all have. Yay You! *dripping with sarcasm*
I still find it odd that people care enough to go out of their way to read what I randomly spew…and then still want to know about my person. Totally weirds me out. Why the hell would someone want to know about a crazy stay at home mother of 8?
So I suppose I will just give you a list…Maybe the top 10 things you need to know about me. Since I like lists…I use lists for everything. I even use lists to list the lists I need to list… (Okay…that was a little lame…but you get what I am saying)
1. I loath the color pink, yet wear it often. It looks good on me, and hell…with as many boys as I have, it’s the only thing that still makes me feel girly! I have even been known to rock the pink hair a time or 10.
2. I haven’t seen my natural hair color since I was 12. I have no idea if I am a blonde or a brunette. It would be totally kick ass if I were a red-head though… I dig red hair. Just ask my hair lady.
3. I LOVE tattoos. Even bad ones. I myself am sleeved, and have some birds on my chest, stars on my other arm…and a really bad (I think fairy) on my ankle from a million years ago. If it were up to me, I would be covered. It makes some family members cringe…but the way I look at it, When I am old and wrinkly, at least the wrinkles will be colorful even if you have no idea what the pic is.
4. I like to drink. Wine is my go to at home, while vodka is where I head when I am out. I am a beer snob (as the hubs puts it), which means I like them dark, red or stout. IPA’s are yummy, but you can keep em if they taste like a christmas tree. Oh…and don’t get me started on pumpkin or fruit. That shit does not belong in a beer.
5. I do not begin to function without a monster energy in the morning. In fact, there ain’t much I won’t do for one.
6. Mornings are not my friend. I should have put more thought into that before I had kids….because kids tend to start waking up when I am just thinking about going to bed, which means I only get between 3 and 4 hours of sleep a day.
7. I have a mouth that will make a sailor blush. “Word enhancers for the win!”
8. I am the worlds biggest procrastinator… yet if you are, then I hate you. I am the procrastinator that thinks everyone should jump to their feet and do what I say when I say it. Gods help you if you don’t.
9. I am never…ever…ever…. wrong….and totally smart as hell. Which means even if I am wrong, I can totally make you believe I am right. *This may be totally untrue, depending on who you speak too. Just know, they are wrong.
10. I am pretty loud. It’s called living in a house with 8 boys and a very loud hubs. You really do have to be loud to be heard.
11. I am NOT by any means a patient person. Sometimes it is a blessing…sometimes a major flaw. But I like to think of it as part of my colorful side.
12. As my hubs would say, I am an acquired taste. You love me or hate me… you never just kind of like me.
13. I never ever wanted kids. (I know… strange that I ended up with 8 right?) And I thank the gods every day that I had each and every one of them. Except for when I am reading or trying to sleep…
14. I am a total asshole… and not just when you wake me up. (which you don’t want to do)
15. I love to play homeless in my RV. We haven’t been able to do it much lately, but it really is my favorite thing to do with the boys. (Dirt bikes and the desert…just a good damn time)
16. I can’t stand people who give excuses for everything. Or do nothing but talk about themselves. Like seriously, I can give a shit that you think everyone thinks you’re awesome. Please let me beat you with a humble stick.
17. HOCKEY! I love love love hockey. Oh…and Doctor Who.
18. I cook the equivalent of Thanksgiving dinner every.damn.night. (Thats a lie…I make the hubs take me to dinner at least once a week. And if he is reading this, then that is a lie…he takes me out at least twice a week.)
19. I live in the desert… The summers can get up to 120 degrees…which is stupid, because I hate the heat, and I totally loathe the cold.
20. After 20 years, I still completely and unequivocally dig the hubs and his sexy bald head. I am actually one of those crazy people who doesn’t complain about him to everyone…though I do complain to him and his bff about him… but totally to his face. And only about things like, he needs to buy me a new purse, and take me to sushi and fly me off to tahiti…and if he would only pick up his socks we would be totally perfect! Oh and that he’s an asshole…but thats like calling the kettle black so that doesn’t count.
So the 10 answers turned into 20… And I didn’t even tell you how I always have makeup on, but don’t always brush my hair. You’re welcome! Now that I told you a little bit about me, lets hear about you! Introduce yourself!
A few weeks ago in the news, I came across an article that had me almost fall out of my chair. (doesn’t help that one of the legs are broken…but thats neither here nor there) The thing was so out of the realm of making sense, that I am still thinking about it. Further more, every time I see a kid throwing a temper tantrum, I now go back to thinking about the whole debauchery of the situation. We live in a backassward society folks. Seriously.
In South Carolina, in a Kroger grocery store, a mother was arrested and is now facing charges, for cursing at her children. She *gasp* used the “f” word. (she must be a total heathen!)
Apparently her kid kept squeezing some bread that was in the cart… –which no one likes squished bread– so after numerous attempts to get this kid of hers to stop, she finally snapped…which is what led to the F-bomb incident.
The F-bomb! *shudder*
Then I got to thinking…If this law (which I think, I still may need to look up just in case.) was in California… I would have spent 18 years (maybe 16 ish) of my first borns life in jail. I do not have the cleanest of mouths, and that kid started giving me gray hair right out of the womb.
In the words of Patrick from spongebob… I use word enhancers.
Lots of them.
I can’t help it. This has been me for as long as I can remember. Is it always appropriate? Eh, probably not. And it’s not like I would drop the F-bomb in front of my Rabi…unless of course it was desperately needed…which in life…sometimes it is.
But jeeze folks! Have we really become a society that persecutes for language?
It wasn’t like she said, “hey! Squish that bread again and I will rip your arm off and hit you with it!” and then actually proceed to try to rip their arm off. (Fyi, confession: I have used that sentence more than a dozen times over the years…however I never ripped any arms off)
She used a curse word…after many attempts to get her kid to listen…in public. She was probably at her wit’s end!
How many times have you been at a grocery store with bratty kids, in a bad mood in tow? If you are a parent, you have at least had this happen to you at least once…
And in some cases, you may or may not have a kid who has thrown something…and not just themselves.
We can’t always hold our shit together, doing nothing but whispering through gritted teeth…with all the veiled threats we can muster.
And because we have all lived through this, why must we all judge that poor mother/father trying to finish the last of the grocery shopping with the loud screaming child. It’s not their fault. I’m sure they want nothing more than to hide under a rock. They are doing what they can.
Hell…when I was a child, my mother would have pulled the wooden spoon out of her purse, took me in the bathroom, and swatted me into listening. However, that was a totally different world…Now she would probably get a life sentence for the spoon.
How does one even discipline a child in public anymore?
I guess you can talk sweetly, bribe them, or just do all your shopping online. It would be safer than accidently cursing. I wonder if amazon delivers wine?
But it’s all true, I woke up Sunday morning to this little doozy and was like…WTF! Someone likes me? They really really like me! It’s one of those things where, I write for me. I use to think it would be really cool if people would find what I said inspirational or exciting. I wanted them to be entertained. I was going to be the heterosexual, a lot more pudgy, Ellen DeGeneres of the blogging world. (Seriously…it could happen in a parallel universe)
Then reality struck. I began to worry about stats and visits…comments and traffic. Then things began to change. Writing started to stress me out. It was a chore, a job…and not a fun one at that.
My writing suffered, and not just my blog. I never wrote. I took a break and lost the two years of my writing when my website had been hacked. At first I was depressed. Then I realized something.
I could be me again! I could start over, write like I had in the beginning. I no longer look at the stats and traffic page. I no longer care about what people think, (not totally at least) and I now don’t hold back. I say what I think, and blow off the haters. So maybe this award makes me more happy than it should. I mean, how can it not?
So like everything in this world, there are rules to this thing. I have to list 10 people in the blogging sphere that I believe also deserve this award… which is funny because the 10 I may know, are already nominated. So…
I also have to link back to the blog who nominated me, which I think is brilliant, because I think Life With The Bearded J’s is brilliant. Love her. She has a facebook page as well as a blog, so I’m linking both, because you have to at least check one out if not both. So here are the questions she asked, and lucky you…you get to see/hear/read the answers…
1. What’s your favorite past-time, aside from blogging?
Aside from drinking wine in bed and reading, (which I do A LOT and besides the blogging thing), my favorite passtime is hanging out at our local hole-in-the-wall bar. The place is a total dive. Everyone knows everyone, and they have karaoke. Which means, I get to watch the hubs sing. He actually rocks, and is super sexy when he does. Sad to say, it only took 15 years before I knew this. In fact, the first 15 years of our marriage, I could have sworn he was tone deaf!
2. If you could turn back the hands of time and do one thing in life differently what would it be and why?
I could give the old cliche “nothing, because everything I have done has made me who I am” However, I wont. Because the one thing I would change, would be understanding and patients. The hubs and I were young when we started having kids, and at times I think the kids suffered from it.
3. What is your main goal you would like to accomplish with your blog?
More consistency. I would like to be more consistent with my writing.
4. If you could have lunch with one person, dead or alive, who would it be and why?
My Gram. She was an amazing woman. She never judged me, even when others would. She always had my back and encouraged me to be great. She was smart as a whip, and was never afraid to voice her opinion (which she had a lot of). She was by far the strongest woman I have ever known. She lived an amazing life, and I miss that woman like crazy. Infact every Sunday, I still wake up thinking I need to call her, just to realize she won’t be there to answer.
5. What inspires you to write?
Life. There are so many things I hear/see and think… That needs to be told. How can I NOT write about that. Even if I never post for the public, I still write about it.
6. What is your blogging routine? (How do you go about creating a new blog entry from start to finish?)
I really don’t have a routine. I have ADHD when it comes to writing. Right now as I write this, I have about 11 pages open aside from gdocs. I start to write, stalk facebook, flip through songs on spotify and read the news. I have my kindle fire on the desk that I constantly write notes about other things I want to write about, ideas for new books (Yes I write more than the blog), and quotes I think of. All while also yelling at the locust and watching the dogs kick each others ass.
7. What is one thing you want the blogging community to know about you?
My hubs likes to say I am an acquired taste… I always say that something is an acquired taste when something tastes like shit…he said it just means you love me or hate me… that no one ever says “Gee I think Sippy is ok…I kind of like her, sometimes…” So I suppose, it’s up to you to decide.
8. What is your fondest childhood memory?
hmm… thats a hard one. I guess I would have to say, the last time I got to spend with my moms parents.
My grandparents lived about 4-5 hours away, which meant we were only able to visit them a few times a year, however this one time when they came to visit, they took me back with them for a couple of weeks.
To keep me busy, my gram taught me how to do macrame, which lead to a lot of plant hangers and owls. (which might explain my fondness for everything owl) She also let me wear makeup (I was maybe 11) out of the house, regardless of how stupid I probably looked. (So glad blue eyeshadow and pearl frost lips are no longer the “In” thing to wear).
My grandpa (who I had always called dad’dad) let me weld about 500 pennies to all of his tools in his workshop. That was the only time I had ever spent with them alone before, and after many many years I still think about the time we had had together.
9. If you were not doing what you do everyday (doing the same thing is not an option) what would you be doing? (for work or for fun)
I would clean far less! But aside from that, I would probably finnish law school. (it’s a long very boring story why I never did.)
10. Describe your first *real* date, the one with no chaperones!
Would you be shocked to know I had NEVER been on a real date before I was married? Seriously! I always went with groups of people everywhere. Then, after 4 months of dating (in groups) my hubs and I eloped. After the marriage, we did the dating thing. We are kind of backwards like that with everything. But hey…we date each other all the time now!
So now that you got to read all my questions and ramblings, this is where I am supposed to nominate 10 other blogs. I am supposed to ask them 10 questions, and what do you know…I know no one. The only blogs I follow have either been nominated (Like The Hoare)…or have more than 1000 followers which of course puts them out of the running. So instead, I am asking ya’ll for names. Names of men/women I may not know about. People YOU as a reader think are more worthy of this award. Leave a comment, or share them in an email or better yet, share them on my Sippy Cups and Booze facebook fan page. Lets get them noticed!
Nothing scares me more, than having someone ask to use our restroom.
Trust me…I get all clammy feeling and want to vomit. I would love nothing more than to tell them the gas station down the street is quite clean.
I am a neat freak, stuck in a house full of nasty disgusting boys. I clean all the time…even have a crazy chore chart with stuff like floorboards and door jams.
These things are actually cleaned a few times a week.
The house is vacuumed, swept and even moped daily. Yes daily!
Dusting is done a few days a week. Mostly because we live in a dusty desert…so even as you dust…it needs to be done again.
I make my bed every morning when I wake up. It’s a thing…I can’t go on with my day knowing it hasn’t been done. Plus, I’m less likely to crawl back into bed if it’s made.
If you look in my pantry, I have everything placed neatly on shelves. In order of what it is. This means beans with beans…pasta with pasta…Nothing out of place, unless of course the kids go in there for something. Then I end up freaking out and fixing it all again.
The other day boy 3 was saying he is the only one on his football team, where his practice pants have no stains. I was shocked! You mean the other mothers don’t scrub viciously like a crackhead, so there are no stains on their kids clothes?
However, no matter how clean I expect things to be…you would never know it with the amount of people in our house. Things are cluttered. There just isn’t enough room for all the bodies, and all the stuff those bodies accumulate in our small house. We are totally in need of an upgrade, but I hate packing so we are stuck for a while.
That being said….
I fucked up folks. When I started having boys, and started the potty training thing…I should have taught them to sit on the toilet. I mean, until they were around other men, they would have no idea they were supposed to stand…and man would I have a clean bathroom.
Flash back almost 17 years ago. That was when boy 1 started his potty training extravaganza.
Thats a lot of years I have been fighting the deadly battle of the urine soaked bathroom.
I made the mistake of hanging a picture above the toilet. It was the early 90’s so looking back it was an ugly picture, but still… the stories.
It was the picture of a seashell. It was laying on a beach with the ocean in the background. I took it down to dust it… the ocean moved. The ocean should not have moved.
That was the first inclination things were going to be gross from there on out.
I have over the years learned you should NOT have a pee bucket placed near the toilet. It is better to keep it under the sink, far away from little boys and bad aim. What is a pee bucket you ask? In most homes it is a wastebasket. A place to throw away the cardboard left over from the toilet paper rolls…or maybe someplace to discard hair from a brush, or used tissue…but in a house full of little boys…its a place where little boys will pee.
Though none of those boys will admit it was them. The never do.
I remember people telling me to “Place cheerios in the toilet!” or “They have stickers you place in the toilet…make peeing a game!” This is supposed to help them NOT pee on the wall or floor.
That doesn’t work folks…we are talking future “Writing your name in the snow with your pee” boys.
With as awful as it may have been, the worst of it has got to be the smell… No matter what you do, the bathroom always smells like a public urinal.
Bleach the floors…behind the toilet…the walls…
All you get is urine with the scent of bleach.
Candles… oh the thousands of dollars I have spent on candles. It really doesn’t matter if you get one that smells like vanilla or a pine tree…it always smells like pee.
I have even tried those little waxy thing you put under the seat in your car… The ones you get from the gas station or car wash, in the little metal tin… Then the boys used that to color the walls…again no one admitted to the shenanigans, and took me months to clean up. Finally had to paint the crap.
If I was a chemical engineer I would spend my lifetime, trying to find something that covers the smell of mens waste. I would probably make a killing, or at least enough to hire a maid just for the bathrooms.
I dream of the days when the boys all grow up and have to worry about what their bathroom in their own house smells like. The day mine all smell like pine and vanilla. I shudder at the poor wives that will live in it, and hope she ends up with her own bathroom like I have.
I have repainted, switched out toilet seats, and even replaced the wax ring under the toilet. I have begged the husband to build me a concrete bathroom, with a drain, and a hose, so I can put on my HazMat suit and clean the bathroom.
Maybe I should start a campaign to get other mothers to train all their boys to sit. We can start a revolution that will purge the world of the urine-on-floor-epidemic! Yep…that bad boy starts now! *All boys must sit to pee!*