I don't even KNOW where to begin with this!!! Is it a genius hack? Things to do? Things NOT to do? Things to NEVER EVER try again EVER? I'm still unsure.
I'll start here...
A few months back after we had gotten Rudy, a friend of mine had mentioned something about some paper plate trick.
Let me back up.
This is Rudy...
Here's a pic of Rudy's first poop. Super proud dog mom moment for sure, but...no. That shit ain't right.
I thought I did everything right. Bought all of the "must have" puppy crap. My most prized purchase though...
Guess what's still in the corner of my living room collecting dust? Yeah...that.
Nobody tells you about puppy poop. Mushy AF. Basic consistency of the frozen yogurt machine on a Carnival Cruise line.
It was at this point I started to second guess my dog friends.
It was also at this point I went out and purchase poo bags...
Another bullshit lie. JASMINE scented? Really? Nothing, and I mean NOTHING can mask the dead carcass odor that permeated from Rudy's backside. Jasmine my ass.
Also...real quick...let's talk about the feeling of warm steamy dog mud in your hands. Nothing in-between but a sliver of bullshit jasmine scented plastic. OR...how about when the scraping (because you KNOW there's scraping) of the poop from each individual grass blade cuts through your jasmine scented bullshit. What then?
Shit fingers. That's what.
The paper plate trick...
Pretty self explanatory, right? Dog starts shitting...hurry up and toss a Dixie under his ass. Looks easy enough.
Bailey failed, and it was forgotten about.
Rudy had some vaccinations this week, and let's just say...the plumbing is off, and the river butt has set in.
Cue Meg and the paper plate trick.
I had all of the basic necessities...
1. Rudy on leash (left hand)
2. Poo bag (left hand)
3. Paper plate (right hand)
4. Phone w/ flashlight (right hand)
The trick is to get him to dookie on the paper plate, and then let it roll off into the poo bag. Not so much.
We executed the deuce to plate PERFECTLY...
And one pic wasn't enough. Nooooooooo. I needed a close up to brag to all of my friends about my genius fucking ideas...
It was mere seconds after this very moment that my life would change forever.
I couldn't just "roll" the poop into the bag because, as I stated before...#riverass. So...here I am...
1. Leashed Rudy (left hand)
2. Paper plate loaded with butt butter (left hand)
3. Poo bag (left hand)
4. Phone to take proud Mom pics and utilize flashlight (right hand)
You'll never guess who spotted his first toad.
Yeah...it was Rudy.
Damn dog is afraid of dandelions, but toads? Nah. Them there are racing buddies.
So off he went...
From my left hand...
With the plate...
Of chocolate caca...
Needless to say...
Poo face Meg.
It didn't stop there. It was also all over my fingers, and now all over a neighbor's driveway. So now I'm trying to scrape mud poo off of their driveway and back onto the plate with my already poo fingers, and a poo face. All the while, dry heaving endlessly.
Rudy never looked back.
⚠️ FRIENDLY WARNING/PSA ⚠️
Hit up my local shell last week before heading up to the lake house. It was a Friday, so naturally I waited 15 minutes for a pump. It was hot out, so when I attempted removing myself from my vehicle, I had to peel my thighs from the seats...resulting in losing an epidermal layer of skin (probably completely impertinent to this story, but I believe solidarity (fist bump) attracts readers)
Anywho...got out...entered my Circle⭕️K rewards number because I’m a saver and somewhat of a tightwad. Swiped my CC when prompted, and NOTHING. No ”card cannot be read” or “your broke ass is declined”. Just NOTHING. Tried again...NOTTA!!! Moved up to the next pump. Successfully completed my transaction, and we were on our merry way!
This is where shit gets weird.
Got a text message from some super cool folk with my Chase Southwest credit card...
I guess I can say that. (insert laughing emoji head)
So, naturally I freak the fuck out. Not because I'm thinking that some Spendthrift panty waste stole my credit card and is having a field day at Orland Square mall, but because my 14 year old just happened to be at PacSun at that EXACT same time (insert suspicious emoji head)
m bout to
I frantically search for my card, and find it immediately, so my feelings of whoop ass and dragging Ella out of the mall by her hair wear off.
I then called Chase to go over the possible mass of credit card gang banging I've ensued. Ummmmm...it was a LOT!!!
CS: "Ma'am...we're going to go over the most recent transactions charged to your account. Please let me know if one or more doesn't sound right."
Self Talk: (Shit. This could get weird)
Me: "mmmmmmmm kay"
CS: "$67 at Ricky Rockets in Midlothian?"
CS: "$84 at Portillos?"
Me: "Sounds like something I would do, but nope"
CS: "$128 at McDonalds?"
Me: "How hungry are these mother fuckers, and HOW is that even possible?"
CS: "$428 to Young Living?"
Hardcore thought about noping this one.
Me: "Ummmmmm...yeah. Definitely me."
CS: "$285 at Ricky Rockets?"
Me: "Another nope"
CS: "All of these are from the mall, so I'll assume NO...
1. $894 at PacSun?
2. $435 at Hollister?
3. 2 separate transactions at Build-A-Bear totaling $196?
4.$26 at Starbucks?
5.$37 at Cinnabon?"
Me: "Ummmmmm...Sadly I need to take ownership of Build-A-Bear because I'm weak AF, and the obvious Starbucks binge. PacSun was already a huge fuck nope, and I haven't slid anything Hollister "like" over these thighs in 12 years...probably because of Cinnabon consumption, but sadly that wasn't me either."
CS: "Kayyyyyyyyyy. Another $184 at Ricky Rockets?"
Me: "JESUS!!! WTF is Ricky Rockets, and do I need it in my life?"
CS: "Ma'am...it's a gas station."
Call me ma'am ONE.MORE.TIME. (insert pissed off red emoji head)
Me: "LORD! Did this Choche bring his entire entourage to fuel up?"
Anyway...a mortgage payment later...we got it all straightened out. (Chase is alright in my book)
My new card is being sent to me, and all is well, but had it been my bank card...I'd be in a pretty bad place right now. Scratched my head for DAYS trying to figure out how it happened. Like...how in the ballsacks can somebody be making these purchases without the physical card? And then a friend sent me this...
You guys!!! If you roll into a gas station...use a PROTECTED CC!!! Never your bank card. If for some reason you're swiping and swiping, and nothing is happening...call your CC company immediately. Your best bet is to actually GO INSIDE to pay!!!
Also...as a disclaimer...
I don't beat my children...or open cans of whoop ass.
I just drink.
Well...It. Has. Been. A. WHILE!!!
Ya'll, I gotta tell you about my day straight from the fiery pits of hell. I don't even know where to begin exactly. I suppose the beginning will do.
1am- The Elf
This B*tch...I cannot. I cannot remember, and I cannot deal.
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
Cute, right? Be nice...stop crying...sisters are important...blah blah blah. I'll get back to how THIS went over in a minute.
6am- I wake up from the WORST DREAM EVER!!! Ba ha ha ha ha ha! Just kidding! I don't wake up at 6am.
7:30am- I REALLY wake up from the WORST DREAM EVER. I won't completely bore you with the details, BUT...I had a dream that all of a sudden I could breastfeed (mind you...I never could. Tried with ALL of them. Wasn't happening). You guys...EVERYONE and EVERYTHING needed to be breastfed. My kids, Kev, the neighbor's new puppy. ALL. OF. THE THINGS. Kev told me the tree out front was not looking good, and that I needed to breastfeed it. There was also no gas in my car. Guess what we could use to fuel the car? Yup. Breastmilk. I 100% thought this was real life as I shoved my sloppy boob into sweet Bes's tank. Went to work after that...you know...as a waitress. I'm always a waitress in my dreams, and I'm always naked..with 1,000 tables of people that I cannot get to. So, here I am...A naked waitress...shooting milk ERRRRRRRRRRRRRWHERE!!! Nobody would eat their food because I shot milk all over their Eggs Over My Hammy. (If only they knew how I fed a tree that morning) Everybody's screaming and yelling at me because of their milky food, and I'm just standing there...naked...crying...and shooting milk.
This is when I woke up.
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
7:45- Have to get 2 of the kids to school. Don't even know their names at this point. Penny is pissed because Quinn's wearing her underwears, and Quinn is screaming because she's being forced to eat mini pancakes and not the regular sized ones. I give up. Clearly the Elf letters are working (insert giant eye roll emoji). As I'm walking out the door, I see this...
My kids are Jag Bags.
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
LATE:30- I'm not sure what time it is, but I'm obviously late (Shocker). Get back to get the other 3 ready. Can't find socks (another WOW moment). Stepped in syrup from the stupid mini pancakes, and now Quinn's pissed off again because her water bottle wasn't filled up 3/4 of the way, like she needs it to be. I don't care. We're no longer friends anyways.
I'm about to chuck this damned Elf, Ya'll. My kids STILL acting the fool!
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
There's a large window of time that I don't remember much. Probably because TODAY'S the day I decided to give up coffee. Not one of my better ideas. Penny proceeds to ask for Starbucks for the next 3 hours.
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
This is where it gets FUN.
1pm- Mom's hungry. Mom makes a taco salad. Anything with the word taco needs 5 pounds of sour cream. Sour cream makes Mom poo.
1:30- Bathroom. My step stool is gone. I NEED my step stool. My legs just dangle there, and my feet don't touch the ground. Next best thing? Tiny garbage can. So, I'm sitting there doing my business, and what do I see? The UPS guy. WHY do I see the UPS guy? Oh, because we don't have window treatments, of course...and Frosty starts blowing up at 4.
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
Ughhhhhhhh!!! SHIT!!! No pun intended. What are the chances he's going to look into the window? What are the chances I have my phone to take a picture? What are the chances that, at this very moment...
Penny opens the door?
Fuck my life.
She LITERALLY lets the man in to drop the packages...right as I'm dropping a taco steamer. Legs up...on a garbage can...bearing down.
Kill. Me. Now.
He looks RIGHT at me...tips his hat and says..."Ma'am."
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
Shit can't get worse from here, right? Nah! Wrong.
2:15- Get Ella, drive home. Forgot my way home. Lack of coffee is obviously making me dumber than I already am.
2:30- Get home. Pee.
3:00- Leave to get Jack and the girls. Of course there's like 12 accidents on the way there. Why wouldn't there be?
This puts a wrench in EVERYTHING. Late getting Jack.
3:25- Late getting the girls. Now I have to physically walk into the office. Guess what I'm wearing. Yeah. Long F*cking underwears!!!! Legit, tight as hell, long ass underwears. Am I wearing a bra? Nope. Am I wearing extra underwears under the long ass underwears? Now that would be SILLY. Of course I'm not.
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
3:45- Who wants to talk about the most uncomfortable moment ever? Ya'll...I am WAY too heavy into 104.3 JAMS Chicago. Like..."Guuuuuuuuuuurl, you'd better CALM your tootsie roll while you driving' before you get into a wreck" into it.
I'm going to start a general list of 104.3 JAMS tunes that you should NOT belt out Mariah style in front of your almost 17 year old kid...
"Let me lick you up and down...till you say stop."
And immediately following...
Baby, don't you understand...
I wanna be your nasty man"
Not one of my "better" teaching moments.
It's Christmas time. I am still blessed.
Lost more track of time after we got home. Picked up my vacuum and laughed at it. Thought about doing dishes, but started watching Kalen Allen on YouTube instead. After all...I was frazzled.
4:05- It was at this time that I realized I have to go pick up a neighbor child and one of my own children at the intermediate school following music class. I have to pick them up at 4...10 minutes away. You do the math.
It’s Christmas time. I’m still blessed.
4:07- As I’m running out the door...still in long underwears and Crocs...Penny goes...”Mom!!! Are we going to gymnastics now?” Gymnastics was at 1pm. This is the 3rd time I’ve forgotten about gymnastics.
Killing it over here.
It’s Christmas time. I’m still blessed.
"Summer Mom Can't Come To The Phone Right Now.
Oh, 'Cause She's Dead!"
As many of you already know...these past few weeks our news feeds have been FLOODED with just the gosh darn SWEETEST back to school photos. We'll all post our comparison photos, and gush about how absolutely gorgeous all of our children have gotten. Maybe we'll chat about how many teeth Timmy lost, or how sweet Sally lost her baby curls. All super cute shit, right?
Listen, I'm guilty...of ALL of these things. You know what though...
Why ain't nobody talking about the 800 gallons of slime that your tiny turd bag children dumped onto the carpet, or the fact that sweet little Sally still shits the hardwood, and uses the solid pieces to fake Mom out as Oreo Balls? How about that time you caught teenage Billy bobbing the bologna into the back to school socks you just bought him? Nobody's gushing about that! Nope!
Summertime, my girlfriends are calling me up all hot and heavy, cussing, half in the bag, (because those tiny bottles of vodka are the only things that are getting them through the day) just screaming about how their kids are nothing but a bunch of window lickers.
First day of school rolls around though...and they are our beautiful, well behaved, precious gifts from the lord. And there are PICTURES to prove it!
This year's about ME!!!
My back to school picture!!!
Shit that I want to do!!!
I thought about getting my hair and nails done. Maybe shave my legs for Kev, (It's in the braidable stage right now) but then I remembered that registration fees, back to school clothes, and the 10 for $10 Lunchables set me back a few. That, and...I didn't want to shock Kev into an irregular cardiac state. The only "nails getting done" I get to endure is the removal of whatever leftover feces I have sunken deep into a nail bed after" one plying" my helpless kid's ass.
This back to school year I celebrate ME!!!
In the only way I know HOW...
Credit: Melissa Eaheart Photography
Hug. A. Teacher.
You hug a Teacher, and you hug that bitch HARD!!!
They're shaping the lives of our precious children, DAILY.
Until it's summer...and they're assholes again.
Here's just a few more small snacks of me..
Just in case any of you wanted to use as blackmail...
or set up poster sized at my funeral.
Better yet...Right click one to your phone, and next time you see one of my kids...bust it out, and ask them if they know me. Watch how fast they say "NO!"
"Mommy! Why you look like Daddy?"
A giant high five to www.belovedshirts.com/ for getting me this, sexier than ever suit, lickity split.
You guys...it has been FOREVER since I've blogged. I'm not sure if it's the copious amount of wine I've consumed this evening, or the sheer unfortunate details of tonight's events that's forced me to dust off the keyboard. Either way, here's to a good read...and my extreme vulnerability...
It all started just a few hours ago. I'll try to make this semi-long story short, and get right to the point.
I was standing in the kitchen, and Kev kind of gave me the "look." The "JESUS! When is the last time she's washed herself" look. I knew it was coming. In the last 7 days, I managed to use a whole bag of Seedlings butt wipes for quick T&A clean ups. I glanced real quick at myself in the mirror today, and admired the hair-do I was still sporting....from LAST SUNDAY!!! I had a cute little coif on the top of my head that resembled a small rat's nest, and, by running my fingers through it, I could easily butter pancakes for our entire Family of 8. Super sexy shit, for sure!
He said..."Babe...go ahead and get in the shower."
So, off I went.
Unfortunately... I waited so damned long between showers, that I forgot which order I normally do things. Started by washing my face. I grabbed my homemade face scrub because, clearly...I needed SOME sort of massive exfoliation. It's loaded with a bunch of fun shit, like... coconut oil, sugar, and a few of my favorite essential oils.
Here's a tip for ya! When exfoliating your face with a bunch of fun shit, like... coconut oil, sugar, and a few of your favorite essential oils, don't open your eyes because one of your butthole children runs in to take a giant dump. Just don't.
So, while my eyes are glued shut and I stand there waiting for the burning firey feeling in my eyeballs to subside, I reach for my body wash. Is my body wash where it should be? Sure the fuck isn't!!! Why you ask? Oh, because my sweet Penny Jane decided to use the entire bottle for a Malibu Barbie mother fucking foam party!!!
So, I move along. As the stench of said child's hot turd permeates through the steamy air, I figure I'll just go ahead and wash my hair. With WHAT though? I'm a complete dumb ass, and packed ALL of my good shampoo and conditioner. I won't lie and say that I COMPLETELY use only Young Living products 100%. I have a small secret obsession with anything Rose Jam scented from LUSH. I kind of, a little bit...get a lady boner when I smell it. Given that though...I kind of...sort of...worry about how "natural" it is. Whatever...I had nothing else. Rose Jam shampoo bar it was!
Here's the problem. And, I CANNOT be the only one. You guys ever try opening one of their stupid shampoo bar tins? Am I the ONLY human being that WETS their head before washing it? Try opening one of those fucking Chinese finger trap bitches when your hands are wet. NOPE!
"Oh, hey. Is that a tiny replica of Fort fucking Knox?"
"Nope. Just a LUSH shampoo bar tin from HELL."
I yelled for Ella. She ran in. Immediately complained of the giant steamy poo smell, and asked what I needed. She knew god damned good and well what I needed, once I flashed that shiny tin from Satan. She's like...."OHHHHHHHH...I hate those! Stopped using them because I can't get the shit open." She didn't say shit though. That's just all of my pent up anger.
She worked on it with a butter knife for a while. Nothin! Even brought it down to Kev. He thought it was a trick, and told it to fuck off.
She brought it back up to me and said "No dice." I wasn't giving up. I threw it against the wall a few hundred times. Last time I threw it, it landed on my pinky toe. Now I have shit in my eyes, nothing to wash my body OR hair with, a busted ass toe, and a bathroom that smells like a port-a-jon after a black bean burrito bowl rager. FUCK. THIS.
It gets better.
I try drying my hands to get a better grip on Houdini's secret "fuck you" box. I reach outside of the tub, towards the stool, to grab my towel. I'm going after it for a while, but given I'm not 25 anymore, my back starts to say "Sit the fuck down!"
Here it goes....
I engage in a gentle "squat," still leaning against the tub.
Can one tell a story with just a photo?
No? How about a better angle?
You guys...I gentle squatted RIGHT onto Barbie's entire fucking leg.
NO! It didn't just brush up against my skin. I'm talking FULL penetration..right into the forbidden back end balloon knot. And it didn't just "slip" right in. Nooooooooo!!! That bitch's foot spared NO mercy on the old puckered starfish.
So, there you have it. I feel like I just got gang banged by a bunch of Mattel whores, while Peppa Pig and her entire entourage sat there and LAUGHED.
So, as I sit here with a bandaid on my ham flower, I have one thing to say to LUSH...and their asshole tins...
You guys...I've been struggling with this post. Like...big time.
I'll start with this...
This is something I posted on Facebook, 5 years ago...
I can't exactly remember the text I had to go along with it, but it was something like...
"Here we go again!"
It was April Fool's Day, and I basically thought that I was the funniest human alive. Like..."YEAH!!! This is good stuff!!! I'll probably land a comical performance contract after this one."
It's NOT funny!!!
It was hurtful to SO many! Unintentional, for sure...but hurtful.
So , here I am...hour 4 of trying to type about how INCREDIBLY difficult these "hysterical" posts must be for couples that have lost a child, miscarried, struggled, or continue to struggle with infertility must be...when I have NO idea how to even BEGIN to comprehend.
All I can say is that...the way that I feel when I see these types of posts can only PALE in comparison to the 7 MILLION women that struggle with infertility daily, and can be crushing to the couples that have dealt with, or are coping with infant loss/miscarriage. According to national estimates, roughly 15 to 20 percent of all pregnancies in the United States end in miscarriage, defined as the loss of a fetus before the 20th week.
You guys, PLEASE keep this in mind when you're looking for a quick laugh...or some serious shock value. Just don't.
I've actually taken the time to compile a list of way funnier crap to post on the interwebs this April Fools' (video reactions are encouraged)...
1. The ole toothpaste in the Oreo trick. Instant laughter...and gagging.
2. Good clean fun right here...
3. Always a classic...
4. For those coffee lovers...Ketchup at the bottom, or Alka Seltzer creamer. You decide. Both equally hysterical.
5. A favorite for SURE. Who doesn't love a good, solid poop joke?
6. Yeah...this one's for Kev. He'll get it.
And last but not least...#7. Even THIS one is funnier than ANY fake pregnancy post...
How pitiful is this face? Seriously?!?!?! Poor sweet Quinn. Just wants to glue her school project together. Here she is at a crossroads though. Mod Podge or Gorilla Glue? One screams..."I won't hold ANY of your shit together" while the other one requires a safety mask.
You might be saying to yourselves..."Why not good ole Elmer's school glue, Quinn?" Ohhhhhhhhh...that's just because 85% of ALL 6-13 year olds in the United Effing States are cranking out 15 bottles at a time trying to create the most revolting shit of all time. SLIME!!!
Let's talk real quick about how SLIME has taken over my life...
My God damned cabinets! Contact solution and shaving cream bottles ERRRRRRRWHERE!!! Need to shave your legs? Not fucking today you don't!!! Better go slide your ass into another pair of Lularoes because the next "Pacific Rush" you'll be getting will be the "backsplash" from your toilet bowl after a hot night at Taco Bell.
Let's go over some of the ways my children have silently said "FUCK YOU" with SLIME...
Want a sure fire way to jack up your carpet? Here you go...SLIME!!!
Not even sure HOW SLIME got on my Ove-glove, but it fucking did. And guess what? The washer was basically like..."Yeeeeeeeeah...I'm not getting you out, and my friend "Dryer" over there will REALLY fuck your shit up!"
This is our SLIME basket. Everything contained to THIS basket, is infected with bullshit SLIME.
This might have slime...might have pee...we're not sure exactly.
Want coffee? NOPE! Fuck you, you've been SLIMED!!!
This is what my kids tell me to do in this situation. See how all of that SLIME shit is stuck to my fat fingers?
"MOM!!! Just poke it!!! Poke it really fast! Just poke. It'll come off. UGHHHHHHH!!! You're doing it all wrong!!! POKE IT!!!"
The next time one of them tells me to poke it, I'm shoving it square up their ass.
Check out their sweet collection? Tupperware? Nah!!! Leftovers have been going into fucking baggies!!! No joke. I legitimately put an entire Stovetop chicken and corn bake into a fucking freezer bag. Thank God we've found a place to "home" our SLIME. See that one on the left? Ella put my coffee into that one. MY COFFEE!!! That shit that keeps me alive is now suffocating in a wad of brown gooey shit that looks close to something that Harper "dropped off at the pool" that morning. The one on the right? Full of teeny tiny beads. You might ask where does one GET such beads? Ohhhhhh, just my super cool iPhone holder from the Sharper Image. Just a Christmas gift that my little SLIME loving turds decided to cut up for their own stupid SLIMEY pleasure. Jerk bags.
Here's some more SLIME...just chillin' on my Norwex mop. Byeeeeeeeeee Norwex mop!!!
You guys...they've created an Instagram account...FOR SLIME!!! 57 people have NOTHING better to do than follow an account containing NOTHING but Stupid. Ass. SLIME.
Can I talk about how many times in a day I hear this...
"Mom...listen to it. It's popping. Do you hear it?"
"This is so satisfying!"
"This is life!"
"Mom, look...I can make a cinnamon swirl."
"Mom...this one looks like Unicorn Poo."
"I can blow bubbles."
"Look at how far I can stretch it."
"Mom, that'll TOTALLY come out."
"Just feel it."
"MOM! Just feel it real quick."
"I wish I could sleep in this."
"They should make mattresses out of this."
Not only that, but I'm pretty certain that my kids have become "dealers." If your kids are coming home with a wad of rolled up dollar bills...you have yourself a SLIME pusher...A Potions Merchant. Like Pineapple express and shit. It's serious.
Let's be real though...this is an expensive habit. Oh, and it's NO WHERE to be found. It's also now being said that Borax, which is also Boric acid...is proven unsafe for kids. Apparently it can affect fertility and brain development. Listen ya'll...I want like HUNDREDS of grandkids, so that shit's gotsta GO!!! Kev and I found a way around this...
Ummmmm...a gallon? I'd rather step on 478 Shopkins than clean up more SLIME, but...whatever!!! It keeps them BUSY!!! Seriously though...wood glue and shaving cream. That's it. Done and done.
Moral of the story though...
After a little more research, I've come to the conclusion that Borax (unless inhaled) is 900x safer than this shit that will likely sprout a 3rd arm on any given child...
Everyone's all FREAKING out about Borax? Jesus! Have you checked what's in your kids' toothpaste? Detergent? Shampoo? Hand soap? Household cleaners? Lotions? Perfumes? I could go on and on. Borax is the LEAST of your problems!
Moral of the story...
Where do I start?
I seriously...truly...and honestly believe that I have the GREATEST Husband EVER!!! No joke. Let me break it down real quick...
Reasons Kev is AWESOME:
1. He's MEGA smart.
I mentioned something tonight about it being a "small world." He proceeded to tell me something like..."Blah blah blah...that's just a fabrication of your mind. Blah blah blah...Your world is as small as you make it, given the people you surround yourself with. Blah blah."
Something along those lines.
My brain started to hurt.
Could've been Malibu brain freeze.
We'll never know.
2. He works his ASS off!
When he's done working, he comes home and works some more. When he's done with that, his brain is thinking about what to work on next.
This is when I'm usually drinking, or telling tiny humans to brush their teeth, and pre-treating skid marked underwear stains.
When people ask me what I do, I'm all like..."I release poo stains from underwears." Real Super Woman Shit.
3. He DESTROYS that whole "DAD" gig.
He has 5 girls. FIVE. Need I say more?
4. He's dead sexy.
He may mow the lawn in Dad shorts, white socks, and gym shoes...but he can OWN a see thru V-neck with exposed chest hair like no other!
He even makes sleeping look good...
Here's where he's kind of not the coolest...
No. It wasn't even like that. It was for SURE all caps yelling...
"MEEEEEEEEEEGGGGG!!! Where's my chapstick?"
"Kevin, I don't have your Chapstick. I actually NEVER have your Chapstick."
"No! I know you took it. It just doesn't jump out of my cooler."
"Kevin, I realize that Chapstick is unable to jump, but I also know that I have not touched your Chapstick. Would you like to check my purse, pockets, and...or, possibly the hidden compartment in my Joan? Would you like to do a full cavity search?"
"No. You stole it, and you are HIDING it!!!"
"I assure you, my love...I did NOT hide your stupid Chapstick. Let me tell you why. I hate your Chapstick. I truly believe that it is 100% the shittiest Chapstick on the market. You have some ridiculously weird hard on for ORIGINAL flavored Chapstick. It's possibly the most revolting smell ever. One that I can only describe as 45 year old sunscreen that has been carefully applied onto a gorilla's nut sack on a Chicago's hot August afternoon. It's THAT bad. And then, once the shitty ass flavor starts to dissipate, you have to go ahead and reapply the shitty shit because now your dumb lips are dryer than before you decided to use it. Maybe if it was Cherry flavored, or Burt's Bees anything...you might have a problem...and I may have taken it. Let me reiterate though...if it's your disgustingly awful ORIGINAL flavored tasting like old ass popcorn Chapstick...I'm not your girl."
Picture of said shitty Chapstick...
Wait a minute...
But WHY do I have a picture of said shitty Chapstick?
OHHHHHHHHHHH...because I found it!!!
Where you ask? Only the same F*CKING place that I ALWAYS find it!!!
Balance a checkbook in 3.5 seconds?
Empty his pockets before he throws them in the dirty clothes?
It gets better!!!
Since he only had a few things to wash, and I'm weird about the washer not being JAM PACKED full of shit, I decided to fill it up...
With my GLORIOUS LulaRoe!!!
It doesn't stop there either...
All over the coveted black and heather grey leggings.
And just to give you an idea of how awesome these shitty Chapstick stains look on...
Perfect nipple placement. Awesome.
So , naturally, I left him a love note...
What's the moral of the story?
Don't do laundry. It's stupid.
How cute are they? These completely adorable smaller than adult human beings qualified for STATE a few weeks ago!!!
So, off to Springfield we go!!!
And since we're basically 110% all about comfort, we made sure to hit up our local Dunkin Donuts in our very best casual Saturday wear.
This was basically about 4.5 minutes into our drive. And, Dear Helicopter Mommas...You can't tell from the pic, but they're COMPLETELY buckled properly into their hidden high back boosters. I also made SURE to remove ANY and ALL puffy coats prior to departure.
No falling asleep on an Oeser Road Trip. #4hourprotection
This just made me giggle like a 14 year old.
Maybe she's hungry? Best Friends are the BEST!
Dear tables 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, and 11,
Sorry we're not sorry.
How stinking cute are they? The coaches surprised the girls by decorating their hotel room. Bailey made her way to the mini mart in the lobby with every last penny that I had in my purse. She thought it'd be a good idea to treat the whole team to Starbucks Frappuccinos. It WAS super sweet and all, only...she spent all of my money. Like...ALL OF IT. If I were desperate for a sanitary napkin out of the bathroom vending machine, I'd be screwed.
It was a great night, up until my 12 year old began a story with..."Remember when so and so queefed?"
I about shit myself.
"WHAT did you just say? Did you seriously just say QUEEFED? Where on EARTH did you hear that?
I knew it wasn't from me!!! I use the term "front butt farting."
I then, casually had to explain what a QUEEF was. That wasn't weird or anything.
"Ladies, listen...please don't say the word QUEEF. It sounds disgusting. Maybe just don't talk about it at all. It happens. It happens to ALL of us. Sometimes when you're sitting down, you might have to pass gas. And sometimes when sitting down and maybe having to pass gas, that gas may have NO room to shoot backwards out of your butt cheeks, so instead...it "reroutes." Hence...Front Butt Fart. Let's just never talk about this again. OK? OK."
I bet you're all wondering where Kev is during all of this?
Not only was he one of the very few Dads that decided to suffer through State competition...
He was also the ONLY one to come down with the stomach flu. I seriously felt SO bad. Like...freezing, shaking, river ass SICK.
I told him to just stay at the hotel. He was MISERABLE. NOPE. He strapped on some MEGA giant man pants, and got us all to the convention center. He sat directly in front of 800 screaming cheerleaders who did NOTHING but try to perfect their harmonization to "Hotline Bling." I think I saw him throw up in his mouth a few times, and then just swallow it.
Not only were the girls BLOWN away just to get a bid to state, but out of 15 teams, they only call the top 9 back to the mat. I wish I could've witnessed their coach's face when their team got called, but from what I heard, it was nothing short of a small amount of diarrhea excitement that some small breeds of puppies experience when they meet a new friend. And out of those FIFTEEN teams, they brought home a 6th place trophy.
I, naturally...cried like ANY human being that just watched the first episode of "This Is Us."
I then took a quick potty break, only to come to this conclusion...
Of COURSE my dress was tucked into my leggings all day. And of COURSE nobody told me. I mean...It wouldn't be an average Meg day if I didn't make a total dick of myself.
The girls did great and all, but the best part of my night was yet to come.
I'm not one to get all stupid excited when I see someone famous. I'm pretty confident that if I saw Ryan Reynolds at a cheer competition, I'd be all..."Oh, there's Ryan Reynolds. That's cool." Probably not the case, but I couldn't see myself getting all starstruck stupid.
You guys...I fangirled! HARD!!! Like, sweating like a Gorilla's sack at Brookfield Zoo in August fangirled.
Next to Betty White and Ellen...she's my fave...
If you ask me who she is, we're breaking up.
And to end the perfect evening (with the exception of Kev puking in his mouth and stuff), we began our 3 hour journey home. About an hour into the drive, Ella goes...
"Are we back in Illinois yet?"
You guys...no joke...I've been staring at a screen, trying to address this subject for MONTHS! It's something that's SO difficult to talk about, but SO important to me. Let me try to break it down...
Here's Kev and I, last weekend. I was laughing my ass off because he left the house that night thinking he was sporting an ugly Christmas sweater. Turns out, everyone just thought he was trying to be trendy. Kev and I wouldn't know "trendy" if it bit us in the ass. Anywho...I look happy as shit, right?
What you can't see is how awful I actually felt inside. It took EVERYTHING in me to get ready that night. Getting ready BLEW, with the physical act of showering being the most difficult of tasks. I had zero energy, and wanted to do nothing more but throw on my chubbiest pair of sweatpants and binge on some Netflix. And by Netflix...I mean...salt and vinegar chips. I hated getting dressed. I lived in Lularoe leggings. It was the only thing I could wear without realizing how fat I was actually getting. NOTHING fit!!! Sour cream and I had become BFF's, with her Sister cream cheese as a close second. Trying to get my "skinny" jeans on was like wrestling a rubbery baby seal into a non-lubricated wet suit. My FUPA started making the rules, and my armpit boobs wanted in on ALL of that action. I felt disgusting!!!
Making plans was just downright painful. If I make plans, that means I have to shower, put on clothes, makeup, hair, and worst of all...socialize with people. Can you HONESTLY believe that I would physically start to sweat profusely over the thought of being around people and talking? Crazy, right? I mean, I'm stuck with tiny spawns of Satan all day. Why WOULDN'T I long for a little adult interaction?
It sucks, you guys. That shit creeps up on me like ANY one of my children when I'm trying to poop. It's mean. It's nasty, and it doesn't give a care.
The week before Christmas it all came full circle for me.
This is where Young Living steps in. In 2013, after I had Penny, I was in a BAD place. Like...REAL bad. I'll make a long story short here, but postpartum is NO JOKE. I was sad. I was mean. I was disinterested...in EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. I had TERRIBLE thoughts. I was irrational, and believed things to be true that were not. I lost friends. I neglected my kids. I was a jerk face to my Husband. I was worse to the people I loved the most. I told my doc...was put on some crap...and carried on. I felt a bit better, but side effects like anal leakage, excessive sweating, and dry mouth just sounded like not so much fun. And lets be real..."loss of interest in sex" wasn't on Kev's list of top 10 things to happen in 2013.
I started noticing Young Living ALL over the place. People were all..."My head doesn't hurt...I'm losing weight...I'm not blowing snot all over my customers anymore...AND..."I'm happier!!!"
Ummmmmm....SOLD. Sign me up please!
So there I was. Got my oils...loved my oils...started sharing my love for oils.
In comes friends loving oils...and then friends of friends loving oils...and then random people that I've never met loving oils. I've met SO many new people, and I've made SO many new friends. Simply by just sharing something I loved.
Fast forward to last week...
Here's my girl Jen. I introduced her to Young Living the same year I was, and here she is knowing SOMETHING was not right with me.
And then Jodie, who I signed up late 2014.
2 people that I had never interacted with prior to Young Living. 2 people that I helped WITH Young Living. 2 people that have lives of their own, along with worries of their own, but here they were...worried about me.
Sadness brought me oils...brought me people...brought them oils...brought me happiness.
They both came over on the Thursday morning before Christmas, and did ALL OF THIS!!! They brought coffee, donuts, birthday cake pops, cupcake frappuccinos, and FANTASTIC attitudes. JUST what I needed. I cannot even begin to explain to anyone how much this meant to me. I was able to get more done, and in return, spend more quality time with my Family for Christmas. It was these 2 girls that helped me realize that I was falling into a funk again, and it was these 2 girls that made me realize that I needed my happy oils to get my ass through the winter.
Depression is scary, ya'll. It's debilitating and relentless. Wether it be a friend, a Family member, your local grocery store bagger, or the Family dog...REACH OUT!!! If you notice ANYTHING off at ALL, just ask. It's that easy. A simple question, a quick talk, or a little help...from even a stranger, can pull someone out of a serious dung pile. I've been there. I know!!! I still get there. What you see on the outside...or on social media, is NOT always what's happening on the inside. Depression does not discriminate against race, religion, sexual orientation. It can attach itself to ANYONE. Thousands of us suffer from it, but with it comes an ugly stigma. The only way to remove this stigma completely, is to TALK ABOUT IT...openly...without shame.
I'm an open book, guys. If any of you feel this way, and need someone to talk to...PLEASE reach out. I'll lock myself in the bathroom with a burrito bowl and a glass of wine...and I'll LISTEN.
On a lighter note...
I tried Ripsticking again.
Can somebody PLEASE remind me that I'm 37 years old, can hardly shave my legs properly, and cannot...I repeat CANNOT Ripstick?