It's been ENTIRELY too long since I've been here, but it's been long enough since this has happened to me that I feel I am strong enough to talk about it. Let's just dive right in...
Y'all, I LOVE a good thunderstorm. I lie in bed while I listen to the sweet, sweet thundery tap of drip drips against my window. I think to myself..."Damn, I love a good storm!" I don't think about much. The open poo bag of 7 days worth of Rudy's chocolate hostages crosses my mind, but I think..."No worries...it's Friday. Friday's are for winners." ( I was wrong about this)
Quinn: [Gently tapping me] And by "gentle," I mean...poking me as hard as she possible can with a Wet Brush into one of my breasts. "MOM!!! The basement is...like...leaking!"
Me: "Christ Quinn...what does that even mean? Did you pee? Did you pee the basement?"
Quinn: "Ummmmmm...no Mom...it's raining down there."
7:24am - *Why is this my life?*
At this point, shit got real weird, and I stopped keeping track of time. The next 90 minutes were a giant blur. I called Kev. No...I take that back. I HATE calling. I texted him...
As you can see, I'm CLEARLY an incredible texter of words.
Things got hectic after this. It's now 7:30 something, by basement is flooding, and my children have to catch the bus in a little over 30 minutes. Who am I really kidding though? What's a bus? I drive their sorry late asses every day. Neither here nor there. Moving along...
Kev has me playing with a bunch of electrical bullshit. At this moment I feel he's testing my will to live. I'm a housewife...not Bob Villa. The kids still have to get ready. I'm panicking. He has me plug other crap into the sump pump outlet to figure out if it's the pump or the receptacle. I'm starting to question my job title as an electrician at this point, given I'm fluently using words like "receptacle." No worries though...after 15 minutes of failed "electrical" attempts, I once again realize that I am, INDEED...still just a housewife. I'm not good at things.
I remember at some point trying to plug a phone charger into the same outlet to see if that would work. As I plugged it in, I remember falling backwards. No worries though...just a rug. (I'll tell you why this was a bad idea in a few minutes here)
The kids now have 20 minutes to get 100% ready. This is a trying moment, given, they can only 10% wipe their asses. Quinn's hair feels "junky" and her sock seams aren't aligning like the GD moon and stars. Penny's a complete helpless mess and can't eat her super healthy Lucky Charms because the milk is too heavy. Their teeth look as if they're wearing winter cardigans, and I give no shits as to what latchkey like outfit they've mustered together. Dress like monkeys...I don't care.
I run upstairs and somehow pull 2 lunches out of my asshole. Pretty sure I filled up 2 used water bottles, tossed some Captain Crunch, a Starburst, and a 3 week old nurse's used ice pack into their lunch bags. Obviously killing this Mom game.
We stumble to the car. Rudy just HAS to come because being even 10 feet from my vagina causes him to go into full on cardiac arrest. Not doing TOO bad. We have 7 minutes to get to school. NO PROBLEM. (insert countdown to ACTUAL problem)
Pull up into the drop off line. Liiiiiiisten...I'm a tuck and roll kinda Mom. I can't get them out of that car fast enough. And then I hear it...
SON. OF. A. BITCH.
I jump out of the car. Not curbside though...NOOOOOOOOO...I'm now 100% blocking passer byers as my pajama'ed ass gets out of the car to pull a quick VSCO bun. As I stand there KILLING the bun game, I hear...
Wait for it...
Why are you wearing Dad's underwears? MOM!!! Get back in the car!"
Y'all...I'd be a Monkey's Uncle if I wasn't just standing there fixin' a messy bun in a pair of Hanes boxer briefs and a sweet 3 sizes too small Xhiliration tank. You guys...Not just boxers. Noooooooo...boxer briefs. That certain special typa' underwears that have a LITERAL house for the penis and balls. A HOUSE!!! I now have a penis.
Jesus be near at this moment. I am NOT OK.
You guys...shit got worse. I leave...roll through a Dunkin' because there is NO way I'm making it through this Friday uncaffeinated. I get home and run upstairs to take this sweet pic pictured above. You're welcome. It gets better. Remember that rug I sat on?
I need a life coach at this point.
I go to the closet to find some pants. In that 3.5 seconds my doorbell rings. It's the plumber I completely forgot I called. What do I do, you ask? I run downstairs because my pea sized, Dory ass, royal blue tang like BRAIN forgot to "process" the "put on new pants before you answer that door"
You're welcome, Steve. Do you like my penis house pants?
Steve goes downstairs. Steve comes upstairs. Steve has to get a part.
Coffee kicks in. I figure I have at LEAST 15 minutes.
Guess who was wrong?
Steve forgot something. Steve done come BACK into the house while I'm laying a quick columbian hot sloppy. (I should add...my bathroom is literal inches from my front door) I JUMP up and shut the door. He says..."So sorry ma'am!" I get out of the bathroom, and let him back in. Not only did he get to witness this the first time around, but now he gets to walk RIGHT through my steamy poo cloud. Perfect. Enter me into the witness protection program. I no longer want to be me.
I don't remember anything else about the rest of this day. I can assure you though...it was shitty (pun intended)
This could quite possibly be one of the most difficult blogs I've written. I realize that this may not be the best place to share it, but I've been an open book from day one, and for the next few days...I'm REALLY going to need the support.
My Family...My children. ALL OF THAT!
And that right there...makes keeping you around for this long...110% worth it!
You gotsta GO!!!
Things were ok after Bailey. Hell...even after Harper it wasn't so bad. Things started getting pretty ugly after Quinn. But Penny....OHHHHHHHHH...Penny!!! Everything took a turn for the worse.
The physical pain you've caused me wasn't even the worst of it. I cannot even count the number of times you've drawn blood. You've left me time and time again, in a rolled up ball on the floor, more times than I'd like to admit. I remember leaving the hospital when Penny had to hang back in the NICU. I wasn't even home 24 hours, and you put me RIGHT back in the hospital...for almost a WEEK!
You've absolutely destroyed me emotionally. You've made me feel ugly, fat, and disgusting. You continuously kick me when I'm already down, and leave me in tears ALL. THE. TIME.
I cannot live with you anymore. I JUST CANNOT.
I deserve better than this. I NEED my life back.
Thank you for my children. Thank you for housing them, and (for the most part) keeping them safe.
But, as far as I'm concerned...
That's ALL you were good for!!!
Tuesday morning will be our last time together as I sign those papers.
OH, and how I WISH I could see your face as I do, BUT...
You're just a uterus.
And you don't have a face.
You also don't have eyes, sooooooo.
All jokes aside...I'm TERRIFIED.
I'm having such a hard time with the fact that the one part of me that made such a huge difference...that made me a Mom...that made me WORTH something...is being ripped from my body.
That's it. I'm done.
Everything I've worked so hard for is OVER.
What am I good for now?
These are my thoughts, and I KNOW they're crazy! And I KNOW I'm blessed AF, but it's still hard.
I have heaviness and constant pain EVERY day, and I know this is what I need to better my quality of life.
To be a better Mom.
A better Wife.
I'm excited, but scared shitless all at once.
Also...this isn't my cake.
I stole it from my Google friend.
I wouldn't be mad though.
If you have any advice, or any words of wisdom...anything at all...please message me. Oh, and I'll take all of the oily combos I can get! I'm slightly freaking TF out. Not just that I'm getting sliced open, but because Kev will be home alone...for 5 days...with 6 kids...and a puppy.
I'll wrap this up with a friendly PSA...
If there's any one thing in your life. Whether it be a friend, a boyfriend, Husband, uterus, a car, a laundry basket, gallbladder, Alpaca, or Goldfish...
and it's dulling the quality of YOUR life...
or just toxic AF...
Get rid of that shit.
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 "Sweet Jesus, what did I vow to hold on to for better or for worse? When is the last time she's stepped even NEAR a washcloth?" look. I knew it was coming. In the last 7 days, I powered through an entire bag of Seedlings wipes for small quick whore baths of shame. I smelled like a burnt onion ring, no doubt. I real quick caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, 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 literally ALL of Flock of Seagulls, and, by running my fingers through it, I could easily butter pancakes for our entire Family of 8. The deli ladies were starting to talk.
He said..."Babe...go ahead and get in the shower."
So, off I went.
Unfortunately... The "adult" shower was out of commissions. I also waited entirely too long between showers, that I forgot which order I normally do things.
Started by washing my face. I grabbed my face scrub because, clearly...I needed SOME sort of massive exfoliation.
I recently turned crunchy, so I obviously went ahead and made my own facial scrub. I'm basically Martha Stewart now. It's fine. Here's a quick PSA though...when exfoliating your face with a bunch of hippy dippy shit, like... coconut oil, sugar, and a few of your favorite essential oils, DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES...EVEN if one of your turdhole children runs in to steam smoke you with a massive taco dump. Can she use another bathroom? Nooooooooooo...because she's waited too long, and it's turtle heading. Perfect. Kill me now.
So, while my eyes are glued shut and I stand there waiting for the scorching, acid like feeling in my eyeballs to subside, I reach for some sort of body wash. Is there any body wash though? Sure the balls isn't!!! Why you ask? Oh, because my sweet Penny Jane decided to use the entire bottle for a Malibu Barbie mother f*cking foam party!!! It was a rager, I'm sure.
So, I move along. As the stench of said child's hot fudge baby permeates through the steamy air, I figure I'll just go ahead and wash my hair. With WHAT though? Penny needed all of that for Barbie's 2.5 inches of GD hair. Super. Some Lush shampoo bar it was! WTF is a shampoo bar? We'll soon find out...maybe.
Y'all ever open one of these GD shampoo bar tins? Am I the ONLY human being that WETS their head before washing it? Try opening one of those f*cking Chinese finger trap bitches when your hands are wet. Go ahead...try it.
"Oh, hey. Is that a tiny replica of Fort fucking Knox?"
"Nope. Just a 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 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 f*ck 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. F*CK. THIS.
It gets better.
I try drying my hands to get a better grip on Houdini's secret "f*ck 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 "You're not Simone Biles. Sit the f*ck 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 f*cking 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 Barbie gives absolutely ZERO effs about what I had just endured, I sit here with a bandaid on my ham flower.
Stay safe. Use a butt wipe.
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.