Happy Holidays are here again!

          Wow, it seems like it has been FOREVER since I last let you in on the circus that I like to call my life. Just starting into the wonderful holiday season, or as I like to call it the “Seeing old relatives who have no filter since they are probably going to die soon” season. Never to fail, I had my first encounter today.

          I wish I could call this gentleman my family, he is a great guy but more of a friend. I casually ask him how his Thanksgiving holiday had been and he replied, “great, how was yours?”  I said it was wonderful and told him that I had gotten to enjoy my favorite thing.  Without any hesitation he replied, “Eating?”

          Now, to a person of size, this is about as popular as telling a good ole black joke. It’s not funny at all… Immediately he realized his folly and we quietly agreed not to discuss it anymore... Even during the holidays fat girls and boys can’t get a break.

          I’m sure that the majority of people went Black Friday shopping. I did not. This is my second year in a row that I did not participate. I still got the paper and perused the ads as if I were going to venture out but decided to stay home and watch porn on the computer with my husband. Times have changed, I no longer feel the need to rush and taunt complete strangers as I once did for a great deal on a fleece hoodie. The hustle and bustle was getting too violent, and that means a lot coming from someone like me who once welcomed confrontation.

          Probably 10 years or so ago, I was Black Friday shopping with my main objective being one of the 29.00 bicycles that my oldest son Matthew had ask for.  Because it was the main item that I needed, I chose to get in line early and not walk away and lose my place in line. By staying in line for HOURS with the same group of mostly middle aged women, it is easy to form a bond. We began to notice as the time to start the actual sale came closer, that people were not getting into line (as was protocol)but just moving straight to the front of the line and I ask for the security guard to step in and do something. Now, we all know that the security guards that are hired for Black Friday shopping all look like old, retired single wide trailer movers, not at all what should be utilized in a situation such as Black Friday. 

          Black Friday security guards should look like MMA fighters who were kicked out for failed drug screens, some of the situations WILL be worse than they actually faced inside the Octagon. The old fart security guard told me that unfortunately, he could not do anything to make the people get into line. I was infuriated.  I had been following the rules for hours….no bathroom breaks, no cigarette breaks, and having to make conversations with the UCHRA bus riders, by the way who were also following the rules.

          I was so upset just thinking about all those punks who just rolled up out of bed with their sweat pants that said “juicy” on the butt claiming the bike that my son had ask Santa for and I was livid. In a brief moment of insanity, I lit a cigarette. I was standing in the Health and Beauty aids aisle of Wal-Mart and I fired up a Kool 100 and took the longest drag that I could inhale. God, it tasted so good. 

          Unaware that the security guard was apparently watching me, I noticed him shuffling towards me rather spryly. He told me that I would have to extinguish my cigarette immediately as this was a no smoking building. I reminded him that he had just told me that he couldn’t really enforce the rules.  He became more flustered as he pleaded with me to extinguish my cigarette.

          I stood there and smoked that little stick of heaven for a few seconds knowing that every drag I took was causing him major anxiety…I told him that if he made the people go back to the end of the line where they belonged, I would comply.  Again he tried to reason with me and suddenly I heard the familiar sound of several cigarette cases opening and lighters igniting.  I turned around and all my Senior Citizen Posse had all lit up to support my cause.  I could see the scenarios running through Captain Retiree as he paused his speech, stammered for a moment, and made his decision.

          He promptly walked to the front of the line and moved the rule breakers to the back of the line. As soon as we saw that he had finished, we immediately put out our cigarettes and the whole line cheered in unison. I was proud that day. We followed the rules and when the system failed, we pushed the reset button.

          Now, it may not seem like much of a stand, particularly to those who marched in the 60’s with Dr. Martin Luther King, JR, but in my generation, it was just as dangerous… I have witnessed more adult fights over Keurig coffee makers at KOHL’s on Black Friday than anyone should ever have to. It is what I would imagine a full scale riot to be.  I’m getting too old for this shit.

Improve Lynda Carter, really?

          I know that times are changing and that change is a part of life. What I am confused about is why must we always seek change? Why are we convinced that there is always something bigger and better? Do we really need a TV that can be seen in 3D, HD, and comparable in size to a billboard? The kind that you need to wear a lead apron and can heat your home? How can we live without the latest phone? At this point our phones can do just about anything including cause cancer.      

          There are some things in life that don’t need to be “improved” upon. There are things that are iconic and shouldn’t even be questioned. The point I am getting at is the unveiling of the “New” Wonder Woman. I was never under the impression that there was anything wrong with the original. Lynda Carter embodied everything that was a female superhero. She was beautiful, smart, cunning, and obviously very patriotic (as evidenced by her smart red, white, and blue costume). 

          The “New” Wonder Woman is a slap in the face to the character that the classy Lynda Carter portrayed for years. From her horrible and trashy outfit to her long poorly styled hair, she is anything but an improved representation of the first female superhero. It’s as if someone decided to replace Princess Diana with Courtney Love. Thus is life, sometimes though it’s just best to hold the cards you’ve been dealt.

          What I really want to know is instead of worrying about what Xena, Warrior Princess looks like after learning how to cook meth, I want to know why they have already started releasing the Fifty Shades of Grey movie trailer and the movie is not slated to be released until February of next year! Talk about S&M! They are literally torturing everyone who is longing to see this movie or to drag their significant other to see it…hoping that they might take the hint…

          Take my advice, skip out on the trashy looking Wonder Woman and read Fifty Shades before the movie release. It will do much more for your life and relationship than watching another cartoon character brought to the big screen. Trust me, I’m VERY interested in Christian Grey and I’d dare say that most women would agree. 

Hillbilly hand fishing with the Duggars!

          Another week down and a few more days closer to school starting. I’ve almost made it through my 18^th summer without being reported to DCS. I know that sounds horrible but, you will never know what it is like to walk in my shoes. If the truth were known, I should be in a straightjacket and heavily medicated at this point. My only solace is going to work, how sad is that?  Jeremy however, has no reprieve. His personality has split, it’s the only way he has survived.

          One of my secret pleasures in this world (besides eating in the middle of the night) is watching….19 kids and counting. I know, it is completely not what you were thinking. I just am in awe of how this family operates. I am very aware that the show is edited, but I find it hard to believe that their children NEVER fight? That Michelle and Jim Bob NEVER argue? That isn’t natural. I mean for goodness sakes, they have been through pregnancy and birth 19 times! How are they even still speaking to each other, let alone continuing to have sex together?

          I have my suspicions that Michelle is very heavily medicated, possibly a speed ball addict (cocaine and heroin) thus making her as relaxed and productive as she appears to be. This is the only explanation that I can come up with as no one can be that on task ALL THE TIME.  Jim Bob is obviously her dealer and she doesn’t want to piss him off and get cut off from her only means of escape, thus the willingness to continue to have sex even after 19 children.

I don’t understand how she is still continent. She must be like the Norway rat (it has absolutely no bowel or bladder control and is incontinent with every movement). I have only had 4 children and I can’t sneeze without wetting myself like a newborn babe. I have written to the makers of Nyquil and pitched an idea. I think it would be great product placement to combine their product with a box of panty liners and market it specifically to women. Their hook could be to highlight the fact that if you are sick, take the Nyquil, put on a panty liner and if you still cough and pee your pants, at least it won’t be a full bed change. You’ll be so drowsy you won’t even care if you piss your pants! I can’t believe they didn’t jump on that idea but I’ve not given up all hope.

I find it hard to work with my 4 children, I cannot fathom 19 freaking kids up in my business all the time. The fact that she home schools them all proves to me that she is not making sound decisions. I’m sure that I am not what you picture in your mind as the “June Cleaver” of Rickman, Tennessee, but even the Cleaver’s knew that the parents needed a break from the children every once in a while. I truly adore my children, but I know my limits. I NEED the children to go to school. They need time to be away from the house.

          Another reason that I am fascinated with the Duggar’s is how that I have never seen any of their children unclothed, swearing, or shitting somewhere that was not a bathroom. I am only the mother of 4 but each of my children has done each one of these things. In fact, 3 out of 4 still remain only in their underwear when home, and 2 out of 4 still regularly soil themselves. I do not believe however, it is an issue of intelligence. I base this on several facts.

          First and foremost, I am their mother. This alone guarantees them at least an average IQ. Secondly, they are all very witty, even when confronted with shitting in the yard. For instance, Cooper was on the trampoline last summer, he got off and pulled down his pants in the driveway and took a dump. This same child has a and more appropriate vocabulary than most adults. Some of his skills include both traditional terms such as poke (a brown paper bag) to urban speak such as whip (car). He is actually remarkably smart and good looking. Those are also other traits of my children. Alas, my fascination with the Duggar’s continues.

          Wyatt and Matthew have really spent a lot of time this summer with my mother. I am glad that they are enjoying themselves but I really do miss them when they aren’t home. They seem to be growing up too fast, but I am so proud of the men that they are becoming. My Matthew has really stepped it up lately. He has a great personality, witty humor like his mothers, and a beautiful girlfriend. At his age, we tend to communicate a lot by text and social media. I can keep up to date on his whereabouts and goings on through electronic means.

          He and his girlfriend Saige went fishing today. I think they caught the Loch Ness Monster actually. He posted some pics on FaceBook of the catfish they caught and I was astonished. First the fact that he had on a shirt, jeans, and boots in 92+ degree weather, and then he was holding a massive catfish. I thought I was watching some sort of reality show about hillbilly hand fishing at first. Both he and Saige managed to catch monstrous catfish from a private pond where she lives (she does not live IN a pond, it is simply on her families property). By the size of the fish, I would not be surprised if the water level dropped 2 inches when they pulled those monsters out of the water.

          Thus as the end of summer comes, I begin to relax somewhat. I know that soon my children will be expanding their minds and attending school once again. I hope they continue to thrive both physically and in their educations. I hope they understand that during extreme times of stress, we love them as much as chocolate chip cookie dough Blizzards, and that we can make them disappear just as fast….

It's almost over, and we are all still alive.

          I wonder if this is what Anne Frank felt like…trapped in your home, on limited rations, and trying to escape your innermost thoughts and feelings all while being openly persecuted? Granted, her situation was much more serious, I’m just bitching about summer break. These kids are trying to kill me, and not in a humane way either. The fighting and constant disappointment are taking its toll on every aspect of my life. I wonder if they even realize it.

          I find myself hiding in the bathroom and waiting for them to forget that I’m home. I eat constantly and daydream of school buses and sack lunches.It hasn’t worked yet but I’m not a quitter. Thus far this has been the worst summer ever…that is truly a statement in light of some of the summers past.

 Matthew is in love…I feel him slowly slipping away from me, Wyatt won’t shut up and won’t get away from me or anyone else for that matter. Cooper has developed his own style of warfare and he is vicious (Geneva Convention type shit), and Charleigh Joe is just trying to make her way.

          Now that Matthew is courting, he is taking on much more responsibility…only when he thinks it can benefit him. His lady friend seems like a nice girl but of course he’ll always be my boy. He seems to keep growing. He is mammoth, he towers over us and like all teenage boys has a voracious appetite. Jeremy is convinced that we should have surprised him in the night and beat the shit out of him about 2 years ago just to show him we could. I’m not so sure we could anymore, even if we took him by surprise…with a mob and a bag of golf clubs.

          Wyatt continues to talk…not just talk, but his mouth is constant. It’s like living with Rush Limbaugh with a bubble butt. I could not even begin to process the amount of facts that he spews constantly. Who doesn’t want to talk about the average rainfall in the Amazon or which fighter planes had the most success in World War II? I know! Such a wealth of information that he wants to discuss mostly at the most inconvenient or inappropriate times, such as a funeral or when being questioned by a police officer.

 I really know that his gift of gab will eventually get him somewhere, just not anytime soon. He continues to amaze me with how odd he can turn a simple conversation. What can I say, he is like a politician without a party or even a message. I’m sure that part will come.

 This summer has been a trying one for Jeremy and me with the middle children. They seems to CONSTANTLY argue. Most of the time it is over stupid shit ( not a real surprise as children could care less about Obamacare or ISIS), and the rest of the time it is for no reason. They have gotten physical and each has landed their blows. The problem is that nothing is ever resolved. Wyatt, aka “The Court Reporter” is able to read back the minutes to every single conversation that has been spoken in this house, at any given time. He is always listening. He is famous for bringing up old shit for another round of fighting. This is definite proof that he is my child. What can I say, I turned out ok, right?

          Cooper has entered a whole new stage in his life. He is starting to be able to control his impulsivity, at times. Which is a good thing. He has not been known in the past for his self-control. He is also beginning to retaliate against his bullies, namely his brother Wyatt. His older brother has long been an adversary and bully and since Cooper is quite a small fellow, he has learned to use his brain instead of his fists.

Just recently I heard an argument and went to put out the flames when Wyatt met me in the hallway. He explained that Cooper had ruined his boots. Of course, I knew there was a second part of the story. When I questioned Cooper about it, he informed me that he was tired of Wyatt pushing him around and that Wyatt was not his boss. It seems that the fight started over Wyatt not sharing his XBOX privileges as he was supposed to.

          Wyatt was just itching to get his part of the story out to defer the attention of his behavior onto the negative behavior of his brother. I soon figured out that Cooper had retaliated… he shit in Wyatt’s boot. While I was secretly in awe of how one arrives at that course of action, I had to discuss this infraction with the youngest male Neville. I told him that I realized that Wyatt could be trying, and that defecating in his brother’s boot was a profound idea of revenge. I then however had to explain that it was inappropriate and that pink eye is no joke.

          As with every family has their struggles, I’m not so sure that any family has ever had to have the “don’t shit in your brother’s boot” talk with their child. While I secretly think that was a genius idea, I cannot encourage it. All I can do is explain to him that it was wrong and tell Wyatt to always check his shoes before he dons them, especially when he’s been an asshole to his brother.

          Thus when this summer comes to an end, I will not be sad. I will be ecstatic, especially if I make it the entire season without anyone going to jail, the emergency room, or to a juvenile detention center. I will feel accomplished in that I have succeeded once more to do as best I could in light of the circumstances.

          To all those parents who wish that summer could last a few more weeks, FUCK YOU. I’m on the verge of a CNN story as it is. If you love having your children home all summer, by all means come and relieve me of a few of my crew. All that I ask is that you invite my children to share in the festivities that you have so successfully entertained your children with. Show me how you have done it without alcohol, benzodiazepines, and counseling. Perhaps you could direct me to your Pinterest board on parenting…

It has begun

It is here. The period in my year that I enjoy the least. Summer has arrived. For you that love having their children home all the time, do not read the rest of this post. It is not intended for you. Your life is perfect and so are you. I am so jealous. For the rest of the population, I hope you enjoy.

Ahh, my least favorite time of year. It encompasses what I consider to be Dante’s 7^th level of Hell. The heat, the children, the obligation of spending your days off from work providing unhappy children with expensive activities are looming. From my perspective, I have considered confessing to being the 2^nd gunman on the grassy knoll just to keep from participating. It’s really that bad at my house.

I live in a tiny house that encompasses a vast array of carbon based individuals. When I am home, it brings the count to 2 adults, 4 children, and 2 dogs. That is a lot of different personalities to try and regulate activities around. Some are very hard to please, and I have one who is not.

My husband bears the full brunt of the torture as I get to escape to work most days. I really don’t understand why I don’t try to pre medicate my poor husband before it happens, I find myself trying to hide the school calendar from him as the end of the school year closes. It’s not as if he won’t eventually realize what is about to happen, but perhaps it would lessen the blow. We have a suicide pact just in case one of us dies so the other will not have to bear such a burden alone. Surely the state will place most of them together.

Summer brings out shorts and swimsuits, tank tops and tans. I don’t participate in any of that shit. I’m pale, fat, and I sweat a lot. No part of this is synonymous with having fun in my opinion. Heat brings sweat, and in a fat girl this means a rash. Add that to being pale and sweaty, and you are not a popular person.

Thus begins my own private Hell. Where you carefully pull out last year’s garments and hope that you haven’t gotten any fatter since you wore them last. If you are like me, you only have about 3 outfits that you feel like aren’t completely horrible. The problem is that 2 of the 3 are more formal. When I say formal I don’t mean like for prom or anything, perhaps for a wedding or a funeral and NOT Dollar General Market. Unfortunately I go to the DG Market much more than I go to weddings or funerals so it seems as if I only wear one outfit.

I hate the water. I do not like to wear less amounts of clothes. The sun is my enemy. The children constantly fight. I hope my clothes fit. This is too much for me to bear, my face is broken out like a 13 year old boys! Why must it come each year! Why?

Without fail, this too shall pass and I will coax my husband off the roof for one more season. I think of better times to get me through the incessant fights over cartoons, action figures, the average rainfall in the amazon, or whatever they come up with. I know that I am not alone in the chaos. I am simply one who will admit it out loud.

 The perfect people of the world know nothing of the plight of counting change to get kids into the pool or making them eat at home before we go somewhere. They cannot fathom the distress that I feel when someone mentions going on a trip or having to display my pasty white thighs at a cook out or picnic.

My friend’s daughter Piper said it all when she told us, “These shorts are tighter than Hell!” Yes Piper, they are.

          

Surviving of Week #1

Ah, another day in paradise. I sit here on the couch in complete silence….that silence is because the electricity is out. No worries, I paid the bill and everything. I have an extra kid again. Cyndi is here for the weekend. She is such a good kid, I can’t understand why her parents let her hang out at my house.

Busy week, I had surgery Monday that has left me “unable to perform”….You really never realize how much you use your hand until it’s useless. Oh, and it’s my right hand… my everything hand. I told Jeremy that I would have starved to death if I hadn’t had a left hand. I now know the sorrow of losing the use of my hand, thank goodness it is only temporary. I feel you weeping for me…I accept your tears.

My first thoughts on Tuesday morn were “fuck my hand hurts” and “where did all this vomit come from?” In my house the vomit thing isn’t a big deal. All of the inhabitants (6) have their own vomit pan. Each pan has been labeled with their name, and decorated if they so desire. When one lives in prison-like conditions (overcrowded, random population, different skills and such) when an illness such as the dreaded “dirty bubble” strikes, it can be devastating.

Generally the first one to show signs is isolated from the general population. Said person is provided with medication, drink, and something like solitary confinement except with windows. They are considered ground zero. Now, Tuesday morning the vomit was so impressive that I literally couldn’t believe it. IT WAS EVERYWHERE.

I started unlocking cells to do a head count and realized it was the dogs…Great. How do you handle this situation? Nettie was very sick and I had Jeremy to take her to the vet ASAP. She was given a shot and by the end of the day everything was back to normal except for the house. We had to wash everything. I mean couch cushions, rugs, hardwood, linoleum, linens. I mean everything. The house smelled like Clorox and Gain. All I could think of was contracting the foaming vomit virus through my incision. I had it covered and it was casted but still, my luck isn’t really great.

I have been out of touch for a week. I miss my friends so much. Their interactions mean so much to me. I wonder if they even know that I’m gone. Surely they have realized that the fat girl who creaks, moans, and groans hasn’t spoken about how hot she is lately…for real though. I miss everyone and hope see you soon.

Love,

Me.

Valentines Day rules

Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. I’m sure that Wal Mart has their wide array of cheap polyester nighties all lined up for sale and the Winnie the Pooh valentine shirts for the “big girls” who cannot wear the nighties. The aisle of valentine candy and chocolates is probably full of last minute shoppers who are trying hard to remedy their decision to wait.

To all the lonely women out there who will be forced to watch others desks fill up with arrangements of flowers, fear not as I have a solution. First and foremost have at least 2 arrangements delivered to yourself with only the initial D on the card. Then as the day wears on, slide around to the forward facing portion of the desk and secretly remove the cards from the bitch’s desk. You know, the ones who are so full of flowers that they smell like the funeral home….and write some crude message or gross co-workers name on the card and quietly slip it back in. She will be too busy showing off her flowers to notice that the card says, I can’t wait to screw you up the ass. Now, whether you think this is “right” or “not funny”, fuck you as you have obviously never been alone on Valentine’s Day.  

 Now is the time that all men should be finalizing the plans that will woo their mate. Instead, these men will wait until tomorrow and rush and make poor choices. They play “beat the clock” and start looking at gift sets. When I say gift sets, I mean lotions and cheap perfumes. No woman should be forced to wear White Diamonds because of poor planning. It’s just not right but oftentimes it’s just how it goes. This day is set aside each year to show your loved ones just how much you love and adore them, how you couldn’t live without them, and how you must show your affection by spending money on them.

Not that I am opposed to receiving expensive gifts… it’s just that we should show our loved ones daily how much we love them. I do this daily by not killing, maiming, or intentionally emotionally scarring them. I know the cold hard truth, that God gave us a thing called mothers love. He did this so we wouldn’t eat our children as soon as they were born, like pigs do. He foresaw all of the crayon wall drawings, washcloths flushed down the toilet, and last minute science projects. He knew that unless he gave us this special love that forgives, we would turn into pigs.

Other types of love I experience is the love of a mate. I have the world’s best mate. He is the love of my life and I could not breathe without him, I am lost without him. Now, with that being said I can guarantee he has not planned anything for Valentine’s Day yet. He will get the kids off to school tomorrow and then set about trying to plan/purchase something for me. Not that it bothers me at all, I would be satisfied with a card with his sentiments and a good screw; and some chocolate covered cherries would be nice.

I spent the noon time hour with my favorite urology practitioner and friend. “Connie” is one of those people that when you meet, you know that you have found a kindred spirit. She is one of the smartest and down-to-earth people I have ever met. You know where you stand and I like that. She always makes me feel at peace (which is hard to do when you are talking about my pee-pee hole) and manages to make me smile when I don’t feel like it. CT scan, kidney stone is over! It only took 2 weeks of misery for me to pass it. It was worth it just to get to see my friend.

Just as I suspected, Jeremy has plans to run to town to pick up Valentines for Cooper and Charleigh Joe to take to school. I reminded him and he immediately went into planning mode. He always seems to pull it off. I can’t understand his methods but as long as manages to get things done. He knows his strengths and uses them to his advantage.  

I am proud to announce that I am going to be an auntie once again! My brother Chad and his wonderful wife Megan are expecting a baby girl due in July. I am so excited. I’ve had baby fever as Charleigh Joe will soon be turning 3. I was prepared to look into buying a newborn and now I won’t have to commit a felony. I’ll have a new baby to hold and spoil, and a girl at that. That makes me very happy.

Goodbye Randall, we will sure miss you.

          So, “Tim” and I have made amends. I think he has kissed enough ass to cover his indiscretion. Perhaps now he will judge a little under what he truly believes…I have been a nervous wreck all week. I have eaten until I am ashamed. I didn’t just fall off the wagon, I stole it, fell off and was ran over by both of the right sided wheels…and I may have eaten it as no further citing’s have been reported.

It started with a kidney stone (which I still have ownership of). The reason I still know it is there is not the pain….it is the sensation of pissing razor blades that alludes to its presence. The excruciating pain waxes and wanes, but the burn is always there. I am taking my Flomax (a medication for enlarged prostate, like I need that rumor started) and it seems to be helping. I only hope this passes on its own as the surgery and stents are worse than an STD (not that I know what an STD feels like…).

Work has been horrendous. On top of regular work we have been attending computer class. Going to a computer training class with 45 or so people to learn a new system is torture. I would rather spend that 4 hour block of my life being pursued by Anton Sugaar (No Country for Old Men) just as long as it was only for 4 hours. If you know who I’m talking about, you’ll realize how bad I hate class.

The reason I hate computer class so much is that I always seems to get in the same class as the people who still are unable to use a copy machine. The grandma’s of the world who don’t have smartphones. The old farts who still use their home phone numbers for shit. These are the people who utilize 85% of the instructor’s time and energy to get a few points across. The remaining 15% of us have already figured it out and are feeling particularly violent when granny brings up something we have already went over or gets lost. I was gritting my teeth so hard I’m sure I’ve done permanent damage from the last session and I get to do it all over again tomorrow.

We had a going away part for one of my co-workers Friday. Randall will be missed. I tried to take plenty of pictures at his going away party. I edited them as best that I could but Jeremy pointed out something that I had never noticed…He looks just like Quaker Oats guy, Wilford Brimley!! I could not believe the resemblance. Don’t ask him about his Diabeetus!

We wish him all the best, he deserves it. Like I said, it’s been quite a week. All of my children have tried my patience as a RESPONSIBLE parent this weekend. Cooper has been off the wall, bat shit crazy. He has toggled between wide open nuts and emotional. Kind of like me when I’m on my period but have been to Hobby Lobby and started a project. Charleigh Joe has pissed in every pair of panties she owns. She just came up to me and told me she was leaving and needed 3 dollars. Apparently she has developed a drinking problem which explains the incontinence. I gave her 6 and told her to get her brother one as well.

Why does life have to be so hard? Why can’t I just have all the answers? I waited all week to finish my homework and it was horrendous. Why did I do that? I have no idea why my mind works the way that it does. I just go with it. That is all I can do for now. I should be getting ready for tomorrow. Back to work I go, or computer class for the morning. I’ll probably be seated next to Jitterbug. I should probably take some Benadryl to slow my reactions. It has saved me before. Never underestimate the uses for antihistamines. They aren’t just for allergies.

 I looked at the weather and see that is should start snowing around 2300 tonight. I didn’t tell Jeremy, I didn’t feel like watching him break down. I’m going to be one happy girl when they cancel Spring Break for all these “snow days”. My husband and I will drop them all off at school and screw like spider monkeys. We will eat ice cream and watch TV, and laugh at how funny life really is. How we beat them at their own game. I wish. 

Why don't they just GOOGLE it?

          “Are birds who eat eggs considered cannibals”? How the fuck am I supposed to know! Why and how do children’s minds operate? I get ask a billion silly questions every day and since they are constantly asking, I assume that I am supposed to know the answer.

          Whoever has the How to properly raise a child manual, I would ask that you please return it to the library so that some of us can peruse it for a few quick answers. I begin this blog with a certain degree of sarcasm (a HUGE amount) as apparently everyone else has the book and utilizes it quite often. I have made lots of mistakes in my parenting career and I feel as if I am alone. Maybe it’s because I never got the book.

          I never got a manual 18 years ago when I was pregnant. I don’t know if it was because I was a teenage mom having an illegitimate child or if perhaps the Health Department was out of them. I say Health Department because that is where every girl of my status would go. My status would read: teenage, pregnant, in school, no relationship with the father, and below poverty level. I was really a catch!

 I see people who have such stringent, black and white ways of dealing with their children and I often wonder if I’m doing the right thing by them. Perhaps I should be more inflexible with my decision and rule making. I just don’t see the point in potentially starting conflict when it’s not that big of a deal. I don’t know all of the answers, I don’t know why they keep asking me shit. We have internet, GOOGLE IT!

          I’m the kind of parent who let them watch TV, play video games (including ones not rated for children!), drink cokes, and I have even let them all curse at some point in their lives. Everyone has at some time lashed out with their words and I’m no one to punish my children for doing so. My only rules are: You must use it in the appropriate context (I don’t want any dumbass remarks, they have had plenty of examples from me), and it must be a slip up and no pre-planned profanity is allowed.

 I am doing the best I can and until I get access to that fucking manual, I will continue my style of raising kids. I have worked in healthcare so long that I have begun to integrate some of my nursing skills into my parenting skills. I have had some success, as I almost have one to age 18! For those of you who are interested….

          Here are some of my cross trained/modified rules:

1.     Sometimes there isn’t a reason why, but we still have to fix/do it.

2.     You can’t come in drunk.

3.     Your bowel movements and/or habits ARE my business.

4.     I hear everything but only react when I feel necessary.

5.     You can’t go out and smoke.

6.     Bathe daily.

7.     When I say “I’ll check on it”, that means I will. It may not be right now but I will do it. Don’t ask me again.

8.     Be nice. You can be direct and to the point but always be nice.

9.     Don’t go into other peoples rooms.

10.                        You can’t sleep all day.

11.                         It’s not time yet for your ___________.

12.                        There ARE set visiting hours…..

13.                        It’s probably not as bad as you think.

14.                        You will not getting your linen changed daily.

15.                        It’s hard for me to believe you are too sick to go to _____ when you are crushing candy right in front of me.

16.                        I’m not your maid, or your waitress.

17.                        Pain is part of life.

18.                        Close the door if you aren’t fully dressed.

19.                        I didn’t ask you if you wanted to, I told you we HAD to.

20.                        I care about every aspect of you and your life. If I didn’t, there would be no rules. Please help me to help you prepare for life after discharge from this facility.

I’m like every other parent in the world, except my rules may be different. We all want our children to succeed and form responsible, capable adults. All families operate differently, and I hope that my form of parenting is preparing my children for the world and preparing me for their eventual departure. I love being a mom, I just never realized how hard it is.

Right now my family is facing a very hard time in regards to one of my children. I am doing what he has ask me to do. Whatever the outcome, I still see and feel the pain that my child goes through. I would happily fix it if I could, but nonetheless I cannot. The only thing I can do is continue to love my children unconditionally, try to make the best decisions for my family, and try to stay out of jail.

My blogs are my way of releasing my feelings whether they are positive, negative, funny, or sad. I intend by no means anyone to become angry or feel as if anything that I write is pointed or directed at any specific person(s).

farrahjoe.blogspot.com is my place. Please don’t read it if you don’t want to know how I feel or if you could potentially be offended. If my opinion isn’t valid to you, stay off my page. It really is that simple. For all of the readers who continue to read and give feedback, food for thought, and encouragement, I thank you. You have given me more than I could ever ask for. I get to express my opinion and make myself giggle. I’m so glad we are friends…..return the fucking child raising manual please!!

I'm too sexy.....

          

Another weekend down and everyone is still alive. I calculated per the school calendar that my children have received 2 days of education in the last 36….really? I hope they get a curve on their grades if you know what I mean. Jeremy and I have turned the other direction on the snow days shit. I hope it continues to snow and they have to go to school all summer.

          Cooper has decided that we need another child. He told me he wants a baby brother. I ask him and he said that moms and dads who are awesome get babies. Well, that’s kind of true….wink, wink. Although I’d like to think that I’ve been awesome MORE than 4 times in my adult life.

 Good luck with that Cooper, if I end up pregnant one of two things will happen. Either Dr. Moore will receive a visit or I will have some explaining to do, either way it won’t be a “happy” time for the Neville’s. Social services would be here before we even arrived home from the hospital as we have too many people in a small space. I would need them to install cameras just for the safety of the children. You know how sometimes when you get too many animals in a cage and they begin to eat each other? I’ve got some hungry looking folks here.

          I’m sorry about the negativity of my last post. Sometimes I can’t smile through the anger. Sometimes I just want to kick someone’s windshield out of their car or ride them to the ground like sea biscuit. I can’t and sometimes I just get mad. I thought that this post should have some humor to offset the last:

1.     I can poop in public (not in like the aisle or anything, just in a public restroom), it doesn’t bother me.

2.    I think I’m an awesome dancer, especially when I’m drinking.

3.    I have a full length fur coat, and I’ve worn it.

4.   I hate when people eat one thing at a time. What is the difference?

5.    I was born without a waist…it’s a disability

6.   Bitches who squat and piss all over the toilet are going to Hell.

7.   I am secretly jealous of crafty Pinterest people

8.    Deep down, I miss the perm…

9.    I wish I had a bubble butt.

10.                       And finally, I sleep with 5 pillows. I’m propped up like a nursing home patient and I like it…

I’m back on track and feeling good. Work, school, kids, whatever, bring it on because I’m ready. I can poop in public, I’m an awesome dancer, and deep down I know how sexy I really am.

How great thou art...

The emotional turmoil that is on the surface is too raw to talk about. Eventually I will explain all of the odd conversations and statuses. I am ready to be tried and found innocent, and I expect my apologies to be heard loud and clear from my accusers.

Not just the ones directly related, but the ones who have long thought and whispered behind my back. The ones that are no better than me. I may be crude and less eloquent, but right is right. I cannot wait for my name to be synonymous with the truth.

GO ahead, and think what you will, I want you to second guess and weigh your options and see how far you want to push. What if you are wrong? How will YOU look? How will YOUR FAMILIY AND FRIENDS perceive you? In short, what if the table were turned and it just so happens you are the one who judged? The very one propped up on the pew at church, keeping up appearances but not living the word.

Consider exactly how that will feel when your world comes crashing down. You may not be as special as you think you are, and perhaps you will be subject to the same judgments you have so easily lain at my feet.

Go ahead, I’m ready. 

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and damn right its better than yours.....

Oh my goodness, what a week. I have had one of those stressful weeks. You know, the kind that air on EVERY soap opera still airing…I’ve had a blast from the past come back into the show, a stressful week at work, Wyatt’s 11^th birthday, and school has been out for snow.

 That last little element has caused me to have to remove all of the pills, belts, and shoe laces from the house as Jeremy is officially on suicide precautions. I have made him contract for safety but this time it’s for real. All of this shit has to happen to me in the middle of an actual diet attempt…WTF?

I took Wyatt to Cookeville today to celebrate his birthday and we started out at IHOP. I was good and only at ½ of an omelet. I was so jealous of all the others around me who were eating “all you can eat pancakes” and just for a second, I wished them all a sudden bout of explosive diarrhea. That is an honest statement, do not judge me.

I took him with me to the doctor where I received a steroid shot in my shoulder. When did I get so old? I guess I should ask “Tim” as he apparently noticed. I don’t remember passing that sign, I’m just worried about what comes next. You know, constantly worrying about my bowels and trying to run everyone’s life? Isn’t that what a great majority of middle aged women do?

Our birthday shopping led us to a good haul at Kohl’s. I had a 30% off coupon and we loaded up. Even the cashier double checked his numbers and complimented me on my savings. I’m really good at crap like that. Too bad no one needs a personal shopper. I would definitely be your girl for that. After Kohl’s, we went to Old Navy and then to TJ Maxx where I was found the most peculiar candle.

The candle was scented tobacco and oak and the very thought of it turned my stomach. For some reason I opened the lid and was stunned at the calming aroma that emanated from that jar. I have no idea why that scent was so soothing, so familiar, but it was in my shopping cart before I left the aisle.  

I was unable to procure Wyatt any jeans anywhere. I guess I will have to go online, again. Wyatt is endowed in the rear end area. Baby got BACK, for real. He has an ass that make strippers jealous, randomly people throw dollar bills at him. He knows about making it rain. It did not come from me. I have the dominant no-ass-at-all gene and my other children have it as well. Wyatt is the only one who doesn’t need a belt to hold up his pants. I will have to go online and get the birthday boy some apple bottoms or something like that.

Hobby lobby was full of crafty folk and Wyatt spent plenty of time perusing their model plane and model car selection while I panted to keep cool and tried not to lay down in the floor. I’m not the woman I used to be, one day of shopping and I need to rest. I was so tired, it was almost as if I had taken cold medication or something. The steroid shot was certainly not systemic.

He finally made his selections and I picked out a pattern to make Charleigh Joe some outfits. I’m sure that they will not look like the picture but at least I tried, right? When we got home my first order of business was to take a nap and when I awoke it was time to get busy again.

I did the normal house things like the dishwasher and wipe the counters off. I sent the dogs out to potty in the snow and the little bitches were gone for 20 minutes! I was overwrought with worry. I just knew I was going to Hell for freezing those puppies to death. I went outside and called for them and looked everywhere. I followed tracks in the snow and finally had to come back in as Cooper was here by himself….Not a good thing at all.

When the dogs showed back up on the porch, I was so happy and so upset that they had caused me to worry like I had been, apparently they didn’t realize I was on a diet either. But, on a lighter note the doctor’s office scales weighed me 13 lbs lighter than I was the last time I was there. I have successfully expelled a few pounds, I just hope I can keep this up with all the drama in my life right now.

We have a huge day scheduled at work tomorrow…at least that is what my pager indicates. I’m going to go to bed extra early so I can get up extra early, around 3am. Jeremy who is also a part time weather man informed me that it would be 18-19 degrees in the morning when I left for work. I don’t know why he felt he needed to tell me that, I didn’t expect it to be 60 or anything. I shouldn’t bitch as I love the man, and his weather reports.

With this last paragraph, I say adieu. I am going to bed and hopefully to sleep quickly so I can be rested and ready for a big day tomorrow at work. I will put on some extra wrinkle cream just in case “Tim” is there. I ask him to bring me some hard candy and I vow to write him a 7 dollar check for his birthday. Obviously I am still upset over the age thing. 

How to successfully remove vaseline from hair...please tell me.

For the second time in 6 months, my daughter has caused me pain and distress over her hair. I say that only twice she has worried me but of all my children, she has the worst hair. I have boys with the most gorgeous thick locks that could ever be wished for, that kind that effortlessly fall perfectly into place…and then there is her hair.

          After 5 washings with Dawn dishwashing liquid, she still looks like she lives in a bus. I have no other ideas and washing it again would be the equivalent of washing ducks in the gulf after the spill. She will just have to wear it off. Her poor hair. She has such a challenge to overcome.

          I don’t know why she got the short end of the stick. Only recently have strangers been referring to her as a girl. For 2 years I endured the “look at the cute little man” shit. Now, that was despite the fact that she has pierced ears, was wearing a dress, and squeaky gold shoes. They still believed she was a boy because she had really short, fine hair. These are the times in my life that I have held back. I did not attack these half-wits. They have obviously been punished enough.

 I do find it funny how hair tends to label us all through life. As infants and toddlers, girls have long hair and boys have short. As we grow older, when a woman has short hair, she is obviously a lesbian. I don’t know how that got started but if she has short hair and drives a truck, it has to be true. You don’t know how many free coffees that little piece of knowledge has gotten me. I have more than once been approached by a lesbian. Unfortunately, I am a heterosexual woman with short hair. Myth busted.

          When a man has long hair, it is he is obviously a left wing democrat who believes the government should be questioned constantly. I don’t put much stock in stereotypes…they have often left me juggling for words to fix my presumptuous mistakes. Examples such as talking to a family member that you presume is the daughter and slip up and it’s his wife…that’s hard to back track.

          Oh well, if getting the Vaseline out of Charleigh Joe’s hair is all the excitement I have this weekend then I’m going to be ok. Since this is the second time in 6 months, I guess we will not replace the huge tub of Vaseline. Our lives will not be changed that much by that decision. In the end, we will potentially come out ahead of the game.

          

In case you don't know what a Pannus is.

          

On the eve of an actual scheduled school day, the light begins to shine in my dear husbands eyes. I can see the life slowly returning to him as each hour ticks by. Soon it will be bedtime, and when the sun comes up I have no doubt he will be the first parent in line to drop off our children. He can spend all day doing exactly what he wants to.

          This past Friday, we were all chatting about how close in age that we all are on our team. I keep my age quiet. I do not discuss it. I am one of those people who do not want to compare. One of my friends, we will call him “Tim” randomly guessed my age at 5 years older than what I really am….and then went on to say that I looked my age. Everyone knows when guessing a woman’s age, you guess under what you really think by at least 7-10 years. The fact that he thinks I look 5 years older than what I am makes the situation worse.

          So now I am old...I’ll add that to the list of crap that I have to feel bad about. I immediately let him know that if any cases came up he would need to let me know ahead of time as I was not supposed to drive after dark. My son would have to bring me. I know now that he ask my mother my true age when he saw her. I’m sure he feels bad. I am devastated.

          Now with my aged face, I return to work tomorrow…I hope that “Tim” and I can resolve this issue or I can at least forgive him for the hurt he has caused me. I’m gonna need to have my ass kissed just for a while over this one.  I really think what he did would be the equivalent of me guessing he was impotent. That was very ugly of me, I’m sorry.  Just saying that it REALLY hurt my feelings. I don’t have anything against aging, I just want to stay on schedule and not ahead of schedule.

          Ike and Tina have been involved in a 2 day long domestic dispute. I feel as if it is has something to do with the mating box as it appears he keeps trying to force her into it. If I spoke bird I think he would be saying, “Just the tip, just for a second, just to see how it feels”. She has whipped his ass more time than I care to count.  He doesn’t seem to be getting the message. He’s not a quitter, I can tell that for sure.

          In light of my advanced aging, I am considering a diet….I am at the biggest weight I have ever been except while I was gestating. I am miserable. I just realized that I have a free gym membership at the University that I attend. I did not realize that all full-time students have a free membership. I don’t think just having the membership will help one to lose weight. I remember 100lbs ago thinking how fat I was. Little did I know, I was a hottie!

          So now the journey will begin. First in my head until I get the nerve to actually go to the gym. I hate new shit that isn’t fun. It puts me at a disadvantage, both physically and psychologically to go to the gym. I feel as if I am on display, I am the newest exhibit. Just being the new kid is hard. Now I’m the fat new kid.

 I have successfully lost a large amount of weight before. I did it through diet and exercise. I actually was pretty fit for my size. I clocked a 9 minute mile once or twice. I would love to just be fit again. I just hate the perceived stares and getting the nerve to start. I am engulfed in routines, this would be just another addition.

          When a fat person goes to the gym, the indecision starts at home. What to wear…. Do you wear shorts and potentially be embarrassed at your legs (mine are horribly scarred and blindingly white) or do you wear pants and sweat even more? We have all seen that fat person at the gym who is wearing pants and from the back it appears as if their ass is eating their pants? No one wants to be that guy. What kind of shirt? One that is big enough to not be clingy and long enough to cover your pannus, but not too long as to appear to be a gown. These are things that thin people do not even consider.

          Then comes the actual workout part. As deconditioned as I am, I may as well start out with the senior citizens (as “Tim” guesses me about their age) except that they are probably more fit than I am. I hope that I can at least keep up appearances while they are looking at me. I actually enjoy working out, but dread the stares and awkwardness of it all. It just takes some getting used to.

          Diet is another problem that I battle. I am a HUGE Mountain Dew fan. I drink a fair amount of product, and that alone contributes to my size. I hate when you modify your diet, and someone points it out. I don’t need for anyone to be counting the calories on my plate and verbalizing the change. I HATE THAT!  I know exactly what will happen, I will go into work tomorrow and get something different than I normally eat and someone will remark about it. I don’t need a fucking nutrition lesson, I know what I should and should not do. Being fat, I should obviously avoid my previous diet.

          The moral of the story is when dealing with people, never guess a woman’s age unless you give her at least 7-10 years under. You should avoid eye contact with any fat person in the gym as they stressed to the max. We are embarrassed enough just showing up and hoping our shirt is long enough, and finally don’t remark about what is on someone’s plate. These tips will help everyone to live a much longer and happier life. It is hard enough in this world to exist, let alone do it with the guilt of over-guessing a friends age….”Tim”, you really hurt my feelings.