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A Simple Plea for Help

3 Mar

Unlike my usual posts, this one will not be filled with humor or expletives. Instead, I’m reaching out to my followers, beseeching them to help a family truly in need.

I have a beautiful niece that I don’t get to see nearly enough. Her mother, while no longer with my brother, is someone I hold very dear to my heart and still consider a “sister”. She recently got married and had a beautiful baby boy just after Christmas. She was the happiest I’ve seen her in many years. It seemed each day was better than the last. That was, until last week. Last Thursday, this beautiful woman was devastated by the sudden loss of someone very close to her. Her uncle David was killed in a single-vehicle accident. He was only 41 years-old.

David Parker

David Parker

While technically her uncle, he was more like a brother because they were relatively close in age. As a girl, he was her playmate. She jokes that as a child, he was her “first love” and that she thought she’d marry him one day before she knew what love was or the rules associated with it or marriage.

David & K

Her uncle David feeding her as a newborn

Into adulthood, though they lived a ways apart, they remained very close. He was also close to his great-nieces. They adored him as my friend and her siblings had growing up. David was single and did not have children of his own so he cherished the time he spent with them.

David and his great-nieces

David and his great-nieces, H & T

David and H

David and H

David never got the chance to meet his great-nephew. The last time my friend saw him, she was near the end of her pregnancy with baby K. My friend is heartbroken that baby K will never know David and how wonderful he was.

David, my silly friend & baby K performing tricks

David, my silly friend & baby K performing tricks

David, being a single man with no children of his own, unfortunately never planned to die unexpectedly at such a young age. He never thought his family would be left behind without the financial means to lay him to rest. But that’s what happened. Even though they only arranged a modest burial service, the cost is far beyond her family’s monetary resources. There is no insurance money to help – not even from the auto policy as the vehicle he was driving had liability insurance only. The small amount of savings David had has been exhausted and barely put a dent in the costs. The family is beside themselves.

The loss of someone as special and wonderful as David was, has been devastating enough for this family. They shouldn’t have to worry or stress over how they are going to bury someone they loved so much. They should be allowed to properly grieve him and make their way towards healing the terrible wound that his loss has made in their hearts. Instead, they are having to contemplate financial ruin just to pay for this. That’s not an exaggeration. We’re talking about family members having to drain every cent they don’t have to bury their family member. No one should ever have to make these kind of decisions.

I know a lot of us live paycheck-to-paycheck. We have vacations we are saving for, budgets we adhere to so we can one day be out of debt, kids that seem to always need something for school, and the list goes on. But, if there’s anyway you can spare a little in order to help this heartbroken family, I’m begging you, my followers, to help if you can.

There has been a GoFundMe account set up for the family. They are trying to raise $3,500 just to pay the balance of the funeral costs but to be honest, they need more. At least one family member has already drained their account to put towards the funeral. They actually need $5,200. So far, the GoFundMe account has only raised $800. While the family is extremely grateful to have raised even that much through the kindness of strangers, the balance they need is overwhelming.

Please, if you can, give. If you can’t give, share. I beg you all to share. It only takes a second to post this on Facebook or other forms of social media. The more people we reach, the more likely this family will have peace of mind knowing they were able to provide a proper burial for this beloved man without financially crippling those left behind. I have the link to the GoFundMe account below. On behalf of me and the family, thank you in advance to those of you that choose to give and/or share this. You have no idea what a difference you’ll make from this one small gesture. In closing, I’ll leave you with a quote that reflects how I try to live my life. Oh, what a world we would live in if everyone strived to live this way.

“I don’t want to live in the kind of world where we don’t look out for each other. Not just the people who are close to us, but anybody who needs a helping hand. I can’t change the way anybody else thinks, or what they choose to do, but I can do my bit.” ― Charles de Lint

http://www.gofundme.com/nkjpm4

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Well Hey There, Sexy Bitches

25 Oct

Whenever I’ve gone on a long hiatus from blogging, I usually come back with “I know it’s been a while…” or “I know I suck for not blogging but I’ll do better….”. After saying it so many times, it doesn’t come across as sincere. You all know by now that:

  1. I have three kids (four if you count the hubby) that I’m constantly cleaning up after, nursing through another pukefest, chauffeuring to yet another birthday party or trying to get fed, bathed and in bed.
  2. I have ADD and anxiety so keeping me focused on anything beyond what I absolutely have to do is a feat of monumental proportions.
  3. My job was getting real shitty there for a while and just plain sucked all the funny out of me.

Let’s all just agree that I’m a sporadic blogger at best and be thankful when the occasional blog actually comes to fruition. K? Alrighty then. Moving forward!

Here’s a few items of note that have happened in my absence.

The Girl is Growing Up

Little Miss started kindergarten in August. She has lost not one but two teeth in the last couple of months. We celebrated her 6th birthday this week. She is growing up WAY too fast. It’s cliché but it’s true. I caught myself staring at her the other day just in awe at how much she has changed this past year. She has gotten taller, her facial features have changed a bit, the olive skin she inherited from her father is still beautifully bronzed from spending the summer at our aunt’s pool. *Let it be noted that I, too, spent the summer at the pool and did not come away beautifully bronzed. Does “ruddy” qualify as tan?  I know we all think our kids are beautiful but I gotta say, my girl is downright stunning at times, when she’s not covered in dirt or something sticky. When I meet other parents for the first time at birthday parties she is invited to, they always comment on how beautiful she is. Strangers stop us in the grocery store to tell her how pretty she is. It amazes me that made that. So sometimes I just sit and stare at her. Occasionally she’ll catch me staring, look at me with a smile, then fart. Giggling, she’ll say, “I farted, Poopy Mommy.” Yep, I made that.

My Job No Longer Sucks

For the better part of two years, my work life sucked. A job I once LOVED had become a source of stress and anxiety that took every ounce of willpower I had just to get out of bed and show up for. I was chronically late due to procrastinating every morning by sitting in my car. I had to talk myself into walking into the building. And those that know me, know I loathe being late. Why did it suck so bad? Lemme tell you.

I essentially had been doing two full-time jobs for two years. For two different bosses. On two different floors. Both bosses were demanding, in different ways.

“A”, who was my “original” boss, is the quintessential “Tiger Mom”. She is a perfectionist to a fault, unable to congratulate a job well done, and always has unrealistic expectations. I started working for her as a reporting specialist. Basically, I would create various accounting reports for the firm showing budget variances, productivity numbers, client averages, etc. I also edited SQL queries, created Crystal reports, automated manual reports, learned how to write macros in Excel, etc. Mind you, this is not anything I did before working at this firm. I learned all this on my own by absorbing any training material I could find, researching online and just by trial and error. I got really fucking good at it. And I loved it. While she irritated me to no end most days, I learned a lot working under her in that role and she pushed me to get a better understanding of everything I worked on. Then they fired the administrative assistant.

Since it was near year-end and some partners felt we (the accounting department) were already overstaffed, I was asked if I could step in and help with the administrative tasks until they could hire a new admin after the new year. I say I was asked, but we all know I didn’t have a choice – I couldn’t say no. Plus, I naively assumed they were being honest with me about hiring a new admin eventually. Once that happened, I would go back to being a reporting specialist and continue on my path to becoming the financial analyst for the firm. Then they hired the new Executive Director.

I was told a week before the new director, “D”, started that I would need to help him administratively as well. I was already struggling my workload from reporting and assisting “A” with her menial administrative tasks. Now I have to add this dude’s menial tasks to my ever-growing to-do list? My anxiety level rose to 11. From day one, “D” acted as if I was his – and only his – admin assistant. I was befuddled. I was just a fill-in until they hired the REAL admin. Right? Wrong.

In less than two months, I was relocated to his floor, typing meeting minutes and memos from pages and pages of handwritten notes (seriously, this dude has never used Dragon and cannot type using more than his index fingers), setting up endless meetings and lunches, slowly dying on the inside. Even worse, we did not gel at first. In fact, only a week after moving to his floor, he told me I pissed him off because I didn’t immediately respond to an email he sent me. Never mind the fact I was uploading time for every attorney in the firm that morning so we could bill clients millions of dollars, but no, I should have totally stopped what I was doing to respond to your email asking me for something you could have totally looked up yourself. After a brief meeting with HR, a meeting was set up between me, “D”, “A” and HR. I was told it was to smooth out the edges, lay out all my current responsibilities and define my responsibilities going forward. I was going to use the meeting as a chance to inquire as to when they planned to hire the REAL assistant so I could go back to my job and continue on the career path I was told I would be on when I was hired. Then they ambushed me.

There would not be a new admin assistant – I was and would always be the admin assistant. Since accounting was overstaffed my former position could no longer be justified. However, just because I’m so awesome, I still get to keep all my reporting responsibilities on top of supporting two executives at the same time. Yay! Did I say two full-time jobs? I meant three.

Can anyone blame me for hiding out in my car every morning? Juggling three different roles (without any extra pay by the way), being as ADD as I am, just drained me. I disappeared from here, from Facebook, from my friends. The thought of doing ANYTHING after I go off work was too overwhelming. I jumped into the hermit hole with both feet. Then someone in accounting got demoted and moved out of the department.

I was told repeatedly accounting was overstaffed so there wasn’t a position for me in that department even though I still had accounting responsibilities. So when I found out a position in billing was opening up because someone was being demoted, I immediately threw my name in the hat. It also helped that I am close with the billing supervisor and I was already her back-up for several tasks when she’s out. Of course, both of my bosses didn’t like the idea that they’d have to find a new admin, but they conceded and I got the job. All I had to do was wait until they hired my replacement and then train them. I wound up waiting two months. TWO FUCKING MONTHS. “D” took that long processing applicants to fill my job. I could take that as a compliment – that it was that hard to fill my shoes. I know that’s not why it took that long, but it’s better for me to pretend he wasn’t being an immense, nit-picking douche. Luckily, his nit-picking paid off. The new admin catches on quick, is a self-starter and a pretty cool chick.

My anxiety level has already decreased exponentially. I have only been in my new role for a few weeks now, but my work life no longer sucks. I don’t hide out in my car anymore and I haven’t been late. Life at work is good, definitely on the way to being bitchin’.

Pukefest 2015

All three of my kids have been puking on and off since the beginning of September. You don’t truly realize just how many stuffed animals your kids have until they’ve puked all over their rooms and you have to wash and dry every single last one of those bastards – twice. If any of you ever buy my kids a stuffed toy, I will hate you for a hot minute.

It started with the Oldest who puked every day for two weeks. He went to the doctor a few times, though nothing they gave him kept him from puking. He only puked at night and it didn’t seem to be caused by any foods he had eaten. The doctor put him on reflux meds to help control stomach acids but the puke continues. Over the past year, the Girl has sporadically puked and then been fine the next day. Again, only at night and not associated with any foods. The doctor also put her on reflux meds some time ago. Lil’ Man didn’t want to be left out, so he has joined in on the upchuck games occasionally, too. There’s no fever, no other viral symptoms – just puke. Lots and lots of puke. The only other symptom is headaches. The Oldest had to go to the doctor for the headaches and they suspect he is developing migraines.

At a loss as to what is wrong with my kids, and unwilling to accept that all three of them have spontaneously developed reflux, I started asking around to see if anyone had heard of this. Our aunt (the one whose pool gave the Girl her glorious tan) searched until she came across something that seemed like a fit. CVS – Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome. It only happens in 1 out of 100,000 children, but they think it may be caused by an inherited gene which could explain why all three of my kids would have it – if that’s what they have. Kids eventually tend to grow out of it, but tend to develop migraines later on. I have emailed an association set up for this syndrome in hopes they can give me contact info for someone close to here that can evaluate the kids to see if this is what they have. Until then, wish me luck and a strong stomach for the next time I have to clean up yet another puddle of puke. Also, don’t buy any stuffed toys for my kids – EVER.

That’s more than enough for now. Thanks for sticking around and asking for more blogs. It fills me with more happiness than you can ever know that someone out there wants to read about what’s going on in my life or my opinion on this, that or the other. I love you all.

Later Bitches!

 

Momma, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Douchebags

8 Dec

Bitch of the Moment:

Now I know what you’re thinking: “She’s not going to call children douchebags, is she?”

Yes, she is.

Admit it, you’ve all thought it. Kids can be douche-y sometimes. There is no age minimum on the ability to exude douche-like behavior.  Sometimes, just sometimes, you witness a kid doing or saying something so abhorrent or tasteless that you say to yourself (or aloud like I do,) “What a douche!”

I want to tell you about the little douchecanoe that inspired this blog. I do not know this child. I’ve never laid eyes on this child nor heard him speak. With all that said, I know he is well on his way to becoming a Class A douchenozzle. I know this because of what he told my child.

About a week before the election, the Oldest came home from aftercare quite worried. As I was making something resembling dinner, he told me in a very concerned voice that we just HAD to vote for Romney. Now, this took me back because the Hubby and I never talk about politics with our son. I wasn’t aware that my son even knew that Romney was running for President. You all know by now who I was voting for but my son did not. I have not and will not push my political agenda/opinions on my children because I do not want to indoctrinate them into my way of thinking. I want my kids to think for themselves, to be capable of critical thought. I know, the horror!  Besides, the fucking kid is 6 years-old! Why on Earth would I tell my kid who they should want to vote for 12 years before it’s even a possibility. I digress.

I got my wits about me and asked him WHY we just HAD to vote for Romney. Again, looking very anxious and concerned, he says, “Because if Obama wins, he’s gonna kill all the white people!”  What. The. Fuck? My kid was sitting in front of me about to cry, thinking if the current President won the election he was going to die because he was white. This bitch went RED! What racist, piece of shit told my son this nonsense? Who was going to incur my wrath and be on the receiving end of a right and proper bitch-slap?Gathering all the restraint I could muster, I asked him where he heard that statement.

I was expecting an adult’s name. I don’t know why but I did. Children (at least kids I surround my family with anyway) usually don’t emit such derogatory sentiments. We live in the deep south. Good ol’ boys are alive and well and…..well, stupid. It’s not uncommon to hear the “N” word thrown around carelessly at all-white functions that involve alcohol, football or spicy, boiled crustaceans on a newspaper-lined table. Luckily, I haven’t heard it dropped around my kids by anyone I know otherwise they wouldn’t know us anymore. BitchinMommy don’t play that. Back to the douchehat at hand.

My son tells me that a kid that he talks to at aftercare warned him what would happen if Obama won. I had to sit and explain to my child that his President was NOT going to kill him simply because he was white. That the President had already been in office for four years and so far had not killed one white person because they were born white. I explained to him that the kid who told him that did not know what he was talking about. I told him the kid was stupid. Yeah, I told my kid that another kid was stupid. If he’s “grown” enough to be handing out political advice to my six year-old, he’s grown enough to be called an idiot. Finally, I told my son that when he’s old enough, he would be able to form his own opinions on who he should vote for and should never let someone else’s fear-tactics and prejudice influence his decisions. He should seek FACTS (you know how I love those) and then choose the candidate who represents his views the best. He said, “Okay, Mommy” and then went about playing Angry Birds, waiting on his pseudo-dinner to be finished.

This kid may not be a full-fledged douche yet, but he’s well on his way. He could wind up turning into a decent, unbiased man who loves all people equally. I’m not going to hold my breath. And who’s to blame for this boy’s ignorance now and the possibility that he will fall off into the Douche Abyss as an adult? You know who. His parents/guardians/mouth-breathing bigots, etc.

Even if you are a shitty parent, your kid wants to be just like you. “Mom” and “Dad” equal God on the lips of children. At the end of the day when everyone else thinks you’re a complete twatwaffle, your kid loves you. They hang on your every word and emulate you at every given opportunity. They are watching you, studying you, soaking it all in. They truly are sponges. Once they’ve absorbed enough, they are going to start wringing it out all over the place, regardless if it’s appropriate to do so. Any parent who has dropped F-bombs in front of their kids can attest to that as fact. I’ll never forget the first time my kid yelled “Motherfucker” across a playground. A word he had learned because he had sat too many times in traffic with Road Rage Mommy.

This kid is learning to be a bigot at home. He’s regurgitating sentiments he hears from the adults he trusts the most. Sentiments that may get him a good ass-beating if repeated in front of the wrong audience. To instill hatred of any kind in your children is despicable on a level that can’t be measured. You are limiting their possibilities, their growth as people before they’ve even had a chance to really experience the world and wonder where life will take them. You are ensuring the next generation of douchebag-backwash, because honestly, they are what’s left of you in the end.

I was nice this time by only saying the kid was stupid. The next time my son comes home repeating shit from this little sponge-of-hate, I’m going to send him back with a few gems to repeat for the whole Douchebag Family to enjoy.

Bitchin Moments:

Today was pretty bitchin’. It was Free Food Friday at work. The first Friday of every month, my firm caters breakfast for everyone in the office. Good breakfast, not hard biscuits and day-old donuts. Also, for the first time in a long time, I got to enjoy lunch with the Hubby. I got to meet some of his co-workers and enjoy a delicious Five Guys burger. Dayum, Dayum, Dayum! (If you don’t get it, go to youtube and type in Dayum. It’s worth it.) Lastly, Santa Clause made the rounds in the office and left us all a very nice CASH Christmas bonus which was sorely needed as bills took most of our paychecks this week.

We have most of our Christmas shopping done so that’s a relief. I braved the Black Friday crowds and actually scored some really good deals. It really wasn’t that bad this year. I cheated a bit, though. I didn’t go right when everything opened up. I waited about two hours. The crowds had died down, there was still plenty to choose from and I didn’t have to wait in line to check out. So all-in-all, I kicked Black Friday’s ass. Woot!

I’ve started couponing again. I had been slacking for a while and my checkbook definitely showed it. Since I’ve started back, I’ve made some of the best scores I have EVER made. One trip to Walgreen’s netted me $30 in products for 15 cents plus tax. The next day, I nabbed $60 in products from Rite Aid for 18 cents plus tax. I couldn’t believe it. You’d have thought I won the Powerball. I was that stoked. I need to post the pics and contents but that shit ain’t happenin’ tonight, this morning, whatever. I’m doing good just to publish this blog. I’m not going to push it.

Later Bitches!

Bitchin’ in the New Year

6 Jan

Bitch of the Moment:

Let’s all just agree that I suck for not blogging regularly and leave it at that. Okay? Okay.

So it’s a new year. Am I excited? Not really. Did I make any resolutions? Nope. I can’t seem to follow through on any of the shit I have going on now, so why would I add another goal/task/lie onto the pile? That’s just setting myself up for failure and I need further disappointment in myself like I need a hole in the head.

Please excuse my lack of enthusiasm for 2012. I know it’s supposed to be about new beginnings and letting go of the past, so on and so forth. My demeanor is probably influenced greatly by the fact that my father-in-law died the day after New Year’s last year. So from December 5th (his birthday) and up until the anniversary date of his death, that’s all we thought about at my house. It’s astounding to the hubby and me that it’s already been a year. The wound is so fresh that it feels like it was just yesterday. How can it be a year already? It makes me wonder if my kids (the older two anyway) have any concept of how long it’s been since they last saw their Grandpa.

It kills me to think about them forgetting him. Forgetting how much he loved them, how funny he was, how talented he was and how passionate he was. Lil’ Man will never remember his Grandpa as he was only seven months old when he passed. I’m pretty sure the girl will soon forget if she hasn’t already. I have no memories from when I was two which is how old she was when it happened. The only one I hold out hope for is the oldest. His 5th birthday was four days after his Grandpa died. Was a big enough impression made in the short time he had with his Grandpa for him to remember?

I know a lot of people will say that we can ensure they remember by talking about him, showing pictures, etc. but it’s not the same. My father-in-law was a force of nature. Pictures can’t convey that. Stories help, but we have so few from recent years since we lived in another state until 2009. Ties to the old stories that would paint a good picture of who he was have been somewhat severed. The family hasn’t really come together since he passed, not even over the holidays. Some have just plain cut ALL ties with us which just digs the knife in a little further. Not only have we lost him, but we’ve lost them and their stories and memories of him. Stories my kids will never know and why? We have no fucking idea. It’s heartbreaking to say the least. Especially when my kids ask to see those family members and don’t understand why they never call or come over anymore.

During the grieving process, sometimes my sadness turns to anger as it does with everyone who goes through this. He is missing out on so much by not being here. Lil’ Man finally started walking and is banging on everything like it’s a set of drums. He is the spitting image of his Grandpa some days which would have made my father-in-law grin from ear to ear. The girl, though completely an ass most of the time nowadays, is so stinking cute that she’d have him wrapped around her finger. He’d get a kick out of her singing every song she hears. And how he would have loved being here Christmas morning when the oldest got his very first set of REAL drums. Knowing that he may have a little drummer following in his footsteps would have delighted him to no end. Not to mention how the oldest loves to draw and paint just like his Grandpa. It really pisses me off he’s not here to take credit (which he totally would have) for any of their talents and interests. Why couldn’t he stop smoking? Why didn’t he change his diet? Why didn’t he just go back home when he first started getting “winded”? I know there’s no way to know if any of that would have made a difference, that’s it’s probable he would have passed away regardless but I still wonder anyway. At least if some changes were made, there wouldn’t be questions now. Somehow, I don’t think I would feel like my kids were being cheated as badly if he could have at least done one of those things considering his previous heart attacks.  Fifty-two years-old is just entirely too young to die.

I hope with this new year we heal a little more. I hope we find ways to ensure our kids “know” their Grandpa and how special he was. I hope bridges that have collapsed within the family start to rebuild. I hope to be able to think about my father-in-law and smile instead of cry. I don’t have any resolutions but at least I have hope.

We miss you, Chuck.

The Oldest & Grandpa's 1st Jam Session

The Girl & Grandpa at our family reunion.

Lil' Man & Grandpa on Christmas Eve

Bitchin’ Moments:

Okay. Enough melancholy. My damn mascara is running all over my face, making for a scary looking bitch indeed.

There have been several awesome events since the last time I blogged. As I stated above, Lil’ Man FINALLY started walking. I know most parents dread this step of child development but seriously, I was starting to get worried. He was 19 months-old for cripe’s sake. The other two weren’t very early walkers either, but neither came close to the year and a half mark. We knew he COULD walk, he just WOULDN’T. I guess that’s the trade-off for having an easy-going kid. He is also saying a few more words now, though not many. “Thank you” is by far the cutest even if no one else on the planet can tell what he’s saying but me. Since he wasn’t keen on talking anything other than his own personal “blickum-blickum-blickum” language, I finally taught him how to sign “eat.” And boy, does he use that one. The kid must’ve been starving before.

The girl, well, is the girl. I truly have no idea where the Diva gets her attitude from but I don’t think I would have made it past the age of five if I talked to my mom or dad the way she talks to us. Her balls are the size of melons. What can I say positive about her……Oh! I haven’t been able to record her doing yet, but I promise to post it if I can ever catch her without her noticing. The girl sings her ass off to the birthday song covered by the Ting Tings on Yo! Gabba Gabba! So. Awesome.

The oldest turns six years-old today. It’s amazing how quickly they grow. He still surprises me everyday by how smart he is. We finally got with his school to see what we could do to challenge him since he was so bored in class and therefore, a distraction to other kids. He now goes to the 1st grade class to study reading and math while his class works on their reading. He is definitely more interested now and it seems his behavior at school has improved. I’m just so very proud of him. We’re throwing him a birthday party this weekend and I hope most of the family shows up. If not, oh well. That just means I can keep more of him all to myself. : )

Later Bitches!

P.S. Since I feel guilty for not providing my usual humor-laden blog, here’s a little something to make you giggle. You’re welcome.

And the dragon comes in the Niiiiiiiiigggghhhhhht!

Whoever Coined “Silence is Golden” Had a Son Like Mine

26 Oct

Bitch of the Moment:

I love my son. I love my son. I LOVE MY SON. No, really, I do.

The kid has so many wonderful qualities, I could honestly go on listing them for days and still have more to add. Why, then, does it take so very little to make me forget that long list of attributes completely?

I’ve said this before and I’ll probably say it a thousand more times before this blog disappears into the abyss, but, my kid NEVER shuts up. His talking is relentless. It drains the very life-force from me  and the hubby. It’s physically exhausting trying to keep up with/tune out the endless stream of babble that spews from this kid.

If he thinks something he saw on t.v. is funny, he’ll repeat it literally 50 times a day. And not even the whole joke, unfortunately. Just the punchline, usually. Then he laughs robustly at himself and looks to us to confirm that he is, indeed, the funniest human being on the planet. Better yet, he makes up his own jokes (which usually make no sense whatsoever) and expects a reaction from us other than the dazed and confused look we are prone to responding with. I want my kid to have a great sense of humor. I want him to think of himself as funny and entertaining. I’d just like him to learn what IS funny *and that yelling BOOGERSUCKER at random isn’t, when telling jokes is appropriate *and that screamed across the doctor’s office waiting room at poor, unsuspecting patients isn’t and once a joke is told and the punchline has been delivered, there is no need to tell the SAME people the SAME joke again *as if the big, red, rock-eater joke is going to get infinitely funnier or have a surprise twist-ending the millionth time I’ve had to sit through it.

I’ve sat in this very spot at my kitchen bar and observed my son watching t.v. in the living room. His mouth is constantly in motion. There is no one else in the room and yet there he sits, talking, babbling, squealing, driving pins into my eardrums. He cannot NOT talk. He is a constant source of noise. His incessant chattering sometimes prevents him from hearing me when I speak to him and actually WANT him to speak respond. Therefore, OTHERS can’t hear me because of his mouth and HE can’t hear me because of his mouth.

This obviously causes him problems at school. His teacher’s only real complaint about him is his talking. He doesn’t raise his hand and wait for her to call on him. He’ll sit there and repeatedly say, “Mrs. D? Mrs. D? Mrs. D?????” She told me that she explains to him that she can’t answer him because he didn’t raise his hand and wait to be called on. If she asks the class a question, even if she calls on another student, my son blurts out the answers. I tried explaining to him that yes, he is very smart and we are very proud of him for knowing the answers. We’re happy he is so eager to participate during class, but he needs to wait until he is called on because he’s preventing the other kids from participating and he’s making it hard for them to learn. I told him that he wouldn’t feel very good if he made it impossible for the other kids to learn and they grew up not knowing anything *and then I may have muttered something under my breath about there being enough stupid people in this country that we have to deal with already. His response? Nuh uh, Mommy. I don’t want them to learn anything. I want to be the SMARTEST KID EVAH!!!!!!!!!!!!  Ummm. Alrighty then. I got nothin’ for that.

When he is tuned into something, he is amazingly quiet. Specifically, anything scholastic. He has these Puzzle Buzz activity books that he will sit and work on for hours. He can finish the whole book in one evening if I let him. Sometimes I let him just to have a few blissful hours of silence.  The damn things are only delivered about every 3 weeks so I can’t use them to my advantage everyday. I totally would if I could. WHAT? He’s learning, dammit. I’m helping his mind grow. No, really!

If anyone has any tips, methods, torture device recommendations on how to get my kid to just stop talking and listen, please, for the love of all that is holy, comment below. If I don’t find something soon, my kid is going to be kicked off the bus by his bitch of a bus driver (that’s another story) and constantly in trouble at school.  That’s the worst part, in my opinion, because he is so bright. I don’t want him being prevented from showing his full potential or being labeled a bad student because of his constant yammering.

*NOTE: I seriously wrote this blog two fucking months ago. August 28th to be exact.

I know, I suck.

The only part that was unfinished was the Bitchin’ Moments section. And it was pretty much complete. What a suckass blogger I am.

Since I left this hanging, my son DID get kicked off the bus for three days. Then, the bitch of a bus driver decided one day that she wasn’t going to let my son off the bus because I wasn’t at the end of driveway (I was momentarily up to my elbows in a shitty diaper and couldn’t get outside at exactly 3:38 p.m.)

She calls me AFTER she has already left my street and informs me that I will either have to meet her several blocks away OR I’ll have to pick him up from school. To which I eloquently replied, “Ummm, huh? Wait. You have a phone? You can call me from several blocks away but you can’t call me while YOU’RE STOPPED DOWN THE DAMN ROAD FROM MY HOUSE? Why didn’t you let my kid off the bus?” *I didn’t scream at her or even use the word “damn” but in my head, I was ready to shoot her in the face. She then tells me that “we don’t let Kindergarteners off the bus if no one is there to get them.” Which is exactly why I, and the other mother on my street, threw a damn fit when this lazy bus-driving bitch (we’ll call her LBDB) decided to change the bus stop from directly in front of our houses to the end of the street because she didn’t want to have to turn around where every other bus driver has turned around for the last 10 years. When I told LBDB and the school Vice Principal (VP) that I had a house full of kids whom could not be left unattended just so I could walk all the way down the street to get him, LBDB told me that she would watch him walk to my house before pulling away if I wasn’t out there. So imagine my surprise when this isn’t what happened. “Where is my son?” LBDB hung up on me.

This is when BitchinMommy’s head imploded.

There is a reason I don’t own a gun, or missile launcher. I called her back and she wouldn’t answer. I was seeing stars. Big, RED, fucking stars. I texted her asking where my son was and still got no response.

I called the school and demanded that the VP get on the phone since she had been in cahoots with LBDB on changing the bus stop. When I informed her that LBDB had not let my son off the bus and that I had no idea where he was or where he was going to be let off, she was appalled. I told her I had four kids in my house, three years-old and younger, that I could not fit in my vehicle in order to come pick up my son, wherever he may be let off and had no way of getting him home. I was very civil with her, not yelling or anything, but she could tell how upset I was. She told me she’d call LBDB immediately and inform her to return my son to my house. LBDB wouldn’t answer her calls either. LBDB dropped my son off, unattended, at the school. Luckily, he had sense enough to go to the office and people were still in there. The VP had to bring my son home that day, an hour and a half past the time he is usually home. I now want LBDB’s head on a platter. But it gets better…

LBDB texts me back an hour after my son is home and informs me that she was going to tell me she was dropping my son off at the school but because I was screaming at her, she hung up. *This bitch hasn’t heard screaming, yet. Plus, she can’t talk on her phone and drive, implying I’m a dumbass for expecting her to do so. I told her matter-of-factly that I never screamed or even raised my voice to her, that this never would have happened if she had just called me from that phone of hers while she was still STOPPED on my street instead of after she was already a half mile down the road. If she hadn’t changed the bus stop when she took over the route or if she had done like she had told me she was going to do and watched my son walk to the house, all of this would have been avoided. I told her that the school VP was in agreement with me that my son should have been let off the bus and that I would be at the school first thing in the morning to get this all dealt with. I also threw in that if I still wasn’t happy after that, I would be going to the transportation and school boards. LBDB being the uber-bitch that she is, tried to get in the last word.

She texts me back and pretty much said that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been such a shitty mom and had been out at the end of the road like I was supposed to be. LBDB tells me it’s a LAW that Kindergarten-aged children aren’t allowed off the bus without an adult being there to receive them.

Is it just me or is this woman fucking retarded? Laws can be verified, you simple bitch. I’ve already told you the VP is on MY side in this matter and you’re going to tell me via WRITTEN communication that I’m a shitty mom? The amount of stupid that lives in this woman cannot be measured by means we possess today. Even though I was ready to go to prison, I damned near bit a whole through my tongue and explained in the simplest terms I could manage that we were done discussing the matter and we would let the higher-ups decide what was to happen.

After a lengthy meeting with the school VP and the Principal, I was informed that there is no law stating the nonsense she was spouting, that LBDB would drop my son off directly in front of my house from then on (and the other little Kindergartener would be dropped at his,) and if I wasn’t able to be outside, LBDB would be required to let him off and wait until he got to the door. When I expressed concern of retaliation against my son (since he’s already been kicked off the bus for stupid shit – not even his mouth if you can believe it) I was told not to worry, that they’d make sure that didn’t happen. I haven’t gotten a note, call, anything about his behavior on the bus since. In fact, LBDB has been driving the bus far less than before the incident. I can only hope I had a little to do with that. Next time she tries to step up, I’ll have the bitch’s job – if not her head.

Bitchin’ Moments:

Again, this was started months ago so anything I had here is old as hell now. So we’ll sum up the awesome:

I have had several glorious instances of girl time lately.

1) I made a trip back home recently and got to spend quality time with some of my favorite ladies. I got to go shopping with my mom and my baby sister which is always a blast. I also got to hang out with two of my best friends in the whole world. It was badassity. Four days of unadulterated laughing sans kids. Mommy needed a break. Here’s a couple of gems from my trip. I’ve omitted names to protect the innocent ; ) :

During girl’s night at a popular local bar:

H: “I have to go pee but I don’t want to walk across the bar by myself to go.” 

Me: “Just go to the bathroom. You’ll be okay.”

H: “But I don’t know where it is. I don’t want to walk around looking stupid in front of all these people.”

C: “If you don’t go, I’m going to make you laugh until you pee. Hey! Think of it as a treasure hunt! You’re searching for the porcelain prize. If you find it, you don’t go home with wet panties!” 

I almost went home with wet panties from laughing so hard.

During a random conversation about toenails:

G: “I refused to cut my husband’s toenails for him anymore after one of the damn things flew into my mouth while I was clipping them.”

Is it possible to laugh and gag at the same time? If so, I did.

2) I got a last-minute invitation to an all-girls game of Cranium one night. When women, wine and board games come together, you are guaranteed an evening worth videotaping. Watching me trying to mime “Walter Cronkite” is apparently comedy at its finest. I’m surprised no one left that night with wet panties.

3) I made a trip to New Orleans with a couple of friends to hang out on Bourbon and watch the Saints play (ok, this wasn’t an all-girl day, but we’ll say he was one of the girls.) I was very much inebriated by the time the clock struck noon and you know what, it was awesome. It was a totally carefree day, the Saints won in a game so close that it made one’s ass pucker and I got to show the city of New Orleans my new, sexy hairdo. I’m sure they’re all still talking about it. Heh, yeah…..maybe not. But it is pretty sexy, to me anyway.

4) I got to throw a bachelorette party, albeit small, for one of my friends here. Six of us hit up downtown Baton Rouge (2 of us almost didn’t make it due to our extreme lack of direction and attention to our surroundings) and shook our asses.

I learned these things from that evening:

a) If you want to dance to techno, you don’t need glow sticks. All you need is an iPhone in each hand.

b) If you are ever in a situation where you need to learn how to “Dougie,” Justin Bieber on YouTube works in a pinch.

c) If you want to hear some of the funniest catcalls in your life, put a blinking tiara on the bride-to-be. Example: “I just love that shit in yo’ hair. I gots to get a picture witch ‘choo.”

d) If you ever have the need to photograph every single second of an event, contact the bride’s co-worker and friend, R. Just bring a back-up camera. She’s going to take so many photos, she’s going to drain her camera battery completely … and then yours.

I’m afraid to even look at what’s on that camera.

Later Bitches!

Oh Hai! U Memba Me?

14 May

Bitch of the Day:

Lately, I have not been blogging as much as I had planned to when I started this bitchfest that you know and love. 🙂 With sickness, spring break and now summer on the horizon, I’ve just not had many moments to sit and gather my thoughts. I could always whip something up real quick to make myself feel like I’ve stuck to my plan and provided my loyal subscribers (all 10 of my sexy, sexy subscribers) with at least something to tide them over, but that seems chintzy. My heart wouldn’t be into it and you’d know it was just fluff and noise. I don’t wanna be the bitch that bitches just for the sake of bitching.

Another problem is that my ADHD has reared its ugly head agai –

SQUIRREL!!!

I have managed to keep it under control the last few months with medication but it has come back full force over the last two weeks. I don’t know if my meds have leveled off or what. I just know I’m getting on my own damn nerves. I must be driving everyone else crazy.

I actually spent most of last week working on one blog. You read that right – one blog. I spent many hours reading, researching and verifying information to write a blog on Birthers. The more information I gained on this “movement,” the more pissed I got, causing the word count to skyrocket. At last edit, I was over 2300 words and it was nowhere near complete. No one comes here to read a freakin’ research paper so I knew I needed to quit before I had a stroke. There is just too much to fit in one blog and I have felt like a lunatic attempting to do so (and it was sucking a huge amount of time that could have been used for something more productive – like sleeping.) The Birther blog will probably never see the light of day. Well, that’s not true. It may wind up being a guest post on another blogger’s site. If so, I’ll let you know. If not, I may post it here later on. In either case, it will definitely be a condensed version and not the lengthy manifesto it is currently. For now, it’s on the backburner, simmering in unadulterated loathing for this group of asshats.

Once I waved the white flag on that blog, I started a new one. Yes. Another blog I haven’t posted.

ADHD is a mofo.

The jest of the second one has to do with bin Laden’s death and how I feel about it. So as not to leave you in suspense, I’ll go ahead and tell you I’m quite fucking happy about his demise. The blog will tell you all the reasons why – that is, if I ever get around to publishing it. It really sucks not being able to get your head out of your own ass. Hopefully, when I see my doctor next week, we’ll be able to figure out why I’ve suddenly regressed back to the stammering, disorganized spaz I was before starting meds.

It was awesome having the ability to focus on tasks and complete them quickly and efficiently. My house was the cleanest and most organized it has been since we moved in. I had stopped procrastinating on starting tasks because they seemed too daunting – taxing chores such as cleaning out the fridge. Seriously, my ADHD is so bad that de-funking the fridge seemed the equivalent of trying to climb Everest at times. In my head, I would say to myself: there is no way I can: clean the fridge, do ALL the laundry at once, sweep the floors, pull that toy out of Lil’ Man’s mouth, potty-train the girl, water the lawn, sneak in a nap, etc., etc., etc. A “normal” person realizes these things can’t be done all at once so they prioritize their to-do list and happily go about their day. Not me.

I get anxious because all of it has to be done NOW! Instead of prioritizing the list so I can start on the first, most important task (like throwing away that shitty diaper I changed an hour ago,) I start all the tasks at once. I’ll have water running in the sink, half a basket of clothes strewn across the couch somewhat folded, a mop in the middle of the kitchen floor and a load of laundry in the washer that I haven’t bothered to push the start button on. NOTHING gets completed. It’s 11:00 at night when I realize I haven’t started the washer and every one of my son’s school uniforms are dirty, inside it. Now you know why I’m up past 1:00 am every night. My fridge is a biology student’s wet dream because I can’t get my shit together.

I had more patience and control of my temper after the meds kicked in. Therefore,I was not yelling or freaking out as much. Don’t get me wrong, I still had my blow-ups every now and again, but I was definitely more mellow than I had been previous to starting my medication. Now I’m back to being a ragey bitch. I listen to the venom that shoots out of my mouth aimed towards my kids and/or husband and I hate myself. I can’t stop it from coming out. I have no edit button. Some of my past co-workers can tell you all about my awesome editing skills, or lack thereof . I was constantly creating shit storms at work, now I create them at home.

What could my family possibly do to incite such wrath, you may ask? Here’s a few examples of their heinous crimes against me humanity (after which, I’ll explain what really happens and why I’m a dumb ass for getting angry):

1. My son leaves his “big boy” cup on the counter, full of water, so his sister can get a hold of it and spill it everywhere. He’s been told a million times to move it by the sink, out of her reach, but he knowingly and purposely leaves it there so I’ll have yet another mess to clean up. This must be the thought-process going on in my head judging from the way I react to it. It’s water, not battery acid. He’s 5 years-old, not a typical teenager doing defiant shit just to make me miserable. He’s SUPPOSED to leave crap lying around because that’s what kids do. I’m a total douche for thinking he should behave any differently.

2. My daughter is the most obstinate child I have ever met. She does exactly the opposite of what I ask out of spite, no matter the consequences. Well, duh. She’s two. Two year-olds are obstinate. They are learning their boundaries and pushing limits. All humans go through this phase. To think my daughter is the only toddler behaving this way AND that she would purposely put herself in harm’s way just to defy my requests is completely absurd. She has no cognizance of cause and effect in most situations. I’m ashamed to say, when she does wind up hurting herself doing something she was told would harm her, my first response is not always concern over her well-being. Sometimes, it’s more like ‘Dammit. See! I told you you would hurt yourself.’ Like I’ve been inconvenienced by her pain. Now, if she’s obviously really hurt or bleeding, I respond as a “normal mom” would and scoop her up to comfort her. But if minor injuries are the result of her actions, she’s more likely to get sent to her room than get a hug. I am a complete and utter shithead.

3. My husband can’t be bothered to do anything around the house. He treats me as a maid, expects me to do everything for the kids and then doesn’t appreciate me at all. Ok, we do have issues with the distribution of chores in our household. However, we have been working on it and the load has definitely gotten lighter on my side. That aside, sometimes when this batshit nonsense starts running through my head – turning me into a ticking time bomb – it’s usually for an innocent offense. Something as benign as leaving his clothes on the floor after a shower can set me off. Of course it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me or appreciate what I do for him. It means he forgot his clothes on the floor. It has nothing to do with me. He can’t help it that I’m a psycho who assumes socks on the floor equal a misogynistic display of control. I am fucking looney tunes.

ADHD can make you blurt out rude or hurtful things before you have time to think about the impact of those words. Thus, the missing edit button. This is why I advise friends to not tell me secrets. Usually, I can’t keep them.  ADHD can make you talk incessantly, even more so in social settings (sound familiar?) When you talk as much as I do, shit slips out that shouldn’t as you try to pull more material to gab on about. I never intend to hurt anyone or to violate trust bestowed in me, my mouth just gets away from me sometimes. And I definitely don’t want to be mean or cruel to my family, which is why I sought help in the first place.

I saw the light at the end of the “Hot-Tempered” tunnel for a little while. Now, it’s like someone blew the candle out again. So, until we can figure out why my train to Focused Town has derailed, I apologize for my inability to put together a proper bitching. I really want to blog often, helping those who read have a laugh here and there, even at my expense. I’m just not able to do it with any consistency right now. With the amount of time I spend writing these days, I should have a thesis at the end, not a blog.  But alas, coherent sentences seem to elude me, due to: being too easily distracted by kids making noise, getting hyperfocused on researching material, zoning ou –

SQUIRREL!!!

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

There’s been a few things happen lately that have totally rocked.

As of this week, I have officially lost 60 pounds since Lil’ Man was born last May. 60 pounds. That’s like losing the equivalent of Nicole Ritchie from your person. I’m happy to be rid of that bitch. The last time I saw my current weight on the scale was 2004. While seven years seems like a long time to get back to your “happy weight,” I’m not going to bitch at all. Some women never get back to their “happy weight” again. I feel extremely fortunate right now.

My sister and her family surprised me with a visit during Mother’s Day weekend. I hadn’t seen them since January so I was very excited to have them here. I got to take them around to see a few sights and we ate tons of food. For Mother’s Day, we got our beignets and crawfish on! Nothing makes me and my sister happier than good food. It’s surprising we don’t weigh 400 pounds each.

In other news, I now only work at the retail store one weekend a month. With us being extremely busy this summer and the hubby having to travel a lot out-of-state, it wouldn’t be fair to my boss and co-workers if I was constantly calling in or requesting off. It’s going to be so nice spending time with my family on the weekends, not missing special events or festivals and having the opportunity to sleep in every once in a while. I would have just quit all together, but as I’ve said before, I loves me some savings. I would hate to lose my discount as I’ve grown quite attached to it. Plus, I would miss my girls as I’ve grown quite attached to them, too. Well, some of them anyway. This way, I can keep in touch with the ones I like. 🙂

To make up the lost income from cutting my hours, I will be babysitting two little boys during the week while I’m home with my kids. Some may think I’m nuts taking on two more kids when I have three monkeys already. But trust me, five is no more work than three. It will probably help me, more than hurt me, having the two extras here to entertain and distract my kids. Also, as bad as this may sound, having two extra sets of ears around will force me to think before I speak, keeping my ADHD-fueled word vomit in check.

The girl LOVES the two year-old I will be keeping. She talks about him all the time and it is the cutest thing ever. The other little boy is a little over 4 months-old I believe and too cute. They are both extremely sweet and kind of reserved. Something I’m definitely not used to. I hope they rub off a bit on my kids. I can dream, can’t I?

Thanks for sticking it out with me, bitches!

I Don’t Want No Scrubs

19 Apr

Bitch of Every Day:

I abhor laziness. If you want to get on my really bitchy side, be a shiftless layabout. You can call me a lot of things, but lazy isn’t one of them.

Here’s a little background on me for those that aren’t in the know. My Mom is the hardest working person I know. Currently, she is 59 years-old and she works in a junkyard. Yep, you read that right. My Mom sorts scrap metal Monday through Saturday and she is almost a senior citizen.

Growing up, I had a scrub for a stepfather. He only worked during the spring and summer doing lawn work which he was able to do on a huge riding mower (that my Mom paid for) so he was lazy even then. Not to mention the fact that my Mom would go with him most weekends to help and she was the one weed eating the properties he took care of. During the winter, he did dick. He sat around the trailer, smoking cigarettes and pot when he wasn’t verbally or physically abusing one of us. He has about 20 spots reserved in Hell right now, if he isn’t already there. After years of trying to escape from him (he’d always find us,) we finally were rid of him when I turned 15. Since then, we’ve only seen him a handful of times and last we heard, he was living under a bridge somewhere supposedly wasting away from cancer. I’ll be nice and say I hope he met his end quickly if he is, in fact, already dead. That’s all I can offer in the way of compassion for the douchebag.

Watching my Mother work at a plant to make enough money to support all of us while putting up with his deranged ass instilled a very strong work ethic in me. It also taught me what to look for in potential life partners so I, and any children I might have, wouldn’t have to put up with that nonsense. I’m not going to take shit from any man, ever. I’m not what you would call a feminist per se, but in that area, you can call me a Femi-Nazi. You can’t work, tend to your home or even LOVE your children? You have no place in my life.

My loathing of laziness isn’t only directed toward life mates. It is applicable to family, friends and co-workers.

Most family members that I don’t associate with are the ones who have nothing to offer society in any way. They can’t hold a job, can’t man (or woman) up and take care of their kids, won’t kick their drug habits or if they have duped some poor, unsuspecting soul into being with them, can’t seem to stop abusing them in some way or another. To me, blood is NOT thicker than water. I will cut a family member completely from my life with no guilt at all. I’ll give them a few chances to straighten up and see their error of their ways; I’m not a total bitch. But too many chances, and I become an enabler. If you’re a shitty person, I’m not going to condone your unforgivable behavior just so you can feel warm and squishy. Blood or not, if you’re a scrub, you’re out.

I’ve disassociated myself from lifelong friends for the same things. Some have been so close that I would refer to them as family instead of friends.  It killed me to do it but I can’t let people like that affect me or my family. They will drag you into that mess and it will either break you financially, emotionally or even physically. I know many who succumbed to pressure and began using drugs, stealing, etc. from the influence of scrubs. I don’t want my kids emulating those types of behaviors in the future. And they will. How do you think most of my family and friends wound up going down that road? They saw it in their homes every day growing up. Luckily for me, I’m was pig-headed enough to fight those urges because I wanted to do something with my life – to have a better life than I had. They weren’t as driven, I guess.

Where my disdain for laziness has affected me negatively, perhaps, has been at work and home. I have definitely alienated a few co-workers (and boyfriends/spouse) when it was apparent I didn’t approve of their work ethic. If you don’t do YOUR part and I have to take up the slack, I’m going to be pissed about it. I do enough. I don’t like work or chores either but I know it has to be done so I do it. If you do your part, everything gets done faster and you don’t have to endure me being a bitch. Deal? Screw around on your own time, not mine.

Where I currently work, we are usually so busy no one has the time to even consider being lazy. There are a few exceptions. When the flow of customers finally ceases or is sporadic, I don’t sit back and relax or chat. I start hanging clothes, cleaning the desk area that is now trashed due to the frenzy of customers or straightening racks. I know if I do it NOW, then I won’t be staying late after work doing it when I’d rather be at home with my family. Lazy co-workers prevent that from happening some nights and it chaps my ass. Messing with my family time is like messing with my emotions. You will incur my wrath.

One of the biggest and longest running sources of contention with my hubby has been his initiative to do things around the house (or school when he was still in college.) He is a habitual procrastinator. I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard, “I was gonna do it tomorrow/later/when…..” If I wanted it done a week from when I asked him to do it, I would have waited a week to ask him. I don’t expect my husband to jump when I say so like some über control freak. I have gotten more forgiving lenient in my old age and will let my requests slide until the next day without being a bitch to him. But, I don’t think expecting something to be done on the SAME DAY I ask is that big of a request. I sometimes think he procrastinates just to demonstrate his control in those situations.  Trying to show he’s the Man and not bowing to the Little Woman’s demands when she reminds him to take out the damn trash. Which brings up the other (bigger) issue.

Why is it, after thirteen years together total, I still have to remind him to take out the trash? That’s HIS job. Shouldn’t he know when it goes out? Now, this past Sunday I didn’t have to tell him. But usually, it gets to be around 11:00 p.m. on Sunday night and I’ll notice the trash is still full throughout the house. When I ask when he’s going to take it out, he’ll usually mutter something about forgetting it was trash night. It’s the same day every week, even on holidays. Why is it that hard to remember? His other job is to empty the dishwasher. I’ve told him a million times, if the sink is full of dirty dishes, it’s because the dishes in the dishwasher need to be emptied. But does he notice? When I tell him it needs emptied, it will be the next day if not the day after that before he gets to it. And I refuse to empty it. Again, I do enough shit around here. There will be maggots in the sink before I empty the dishwasher. I’ll hand wash a dish here and there that I absolutely have to have before I empty the damn thing. I told you before I was pig-headed.

I can’t fully blame him for his lack of initiative around the house. See, growing up, he had chores he had to do, well, a few anyway. After he would complete his chores, his mother would go behind him and redo it. When he got to be a teenager, he’d finally had enough. If she was just going to redo it anyway, she could do it in the first place. If you are so anal-retentive (as I am and she really is) about your house that you will go behind someone and “fix” what they’ve cleaned, then you haven’t properly trained them. Also, beggars can’t be choosers. If you want the help, you can’t expect the helper to be as neurotic as you are – unless you’re paying them, of course. Your kids need guidance from you on how you want things done, but only to an extent. So his mom had to do everything because she wouldn’t let him do anything. So, he honestly was accustomed to not helping around the house when we got together. He didn’t know how to work a washing machine for Christ’s sake. I took the time to show him how to do certain things I could use his help on and thought that’d be that. Not so much.

I still have to ask for help all the time. He doesn’t notice the filth, nor does he really care about it. If I left for a month to go on a trip and came back, my house would probably look similar to some of those on TLC’s Hoarding. Instead of copious amounts of ceramic cats and old newspapers, my house would be filled to the brim with Dr. Pepper cans and shitty diapers. There’d be paper plates littering the counters, floors, the stove, everywhere. Everywhere except the garbage can. Seriously, you’re 10 feet from the garbage can. Why the eff are you laying it on the counter for ME to throw away? It bothers me because it shows a lack of respect for my time, the hard work I put into our home  and my feelings. He knows how important it is for me to have a clean house and that things be organized. Yet, he makes no effort to help keep it that way. I pick up after him as much as I do my kids. Maybe more than my kids. So, we butt heads about it every few months (really, I just talk at him and he mutters and nods. Things get better for a few weeks then revert back to the same old shit.) He is the bread-winner in the home; I only work weekends in a department store. I, however, take care of at least two, if not all three kids all day by myself the entire week-long. It’s more draining than any “real” job I’ve ever had. I still manage to clean, pay bills, fix things and cook while caring for them. I’ll trade his “real” job for my “playing house” any day. He wouldn’t last a week and he knows it. So why he doesn’t step up to help is beyond me.

Don’t get me wrong. He’s an awesome dad to my kids. He has a great job that he actually likes for once and seems to be well-respected there. He and I still find new things to talk about everyday so we’re never bored together. And it doesn’t hurt that I still find him to be very, very cute. 🙂  He is definitely not a SCRUB. He just needs to SCRUB around the house a little more often.

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

My kids are funny as hell. I wish I could remember all the things they say on a daily basis but anyone that knows me, knows my memory is shit. I blame it on brain rot from all the Diet Coke I’ve been drinking over the years. I need a little recorder I can carry around so I can save it verbatim when the funnies happen. Here’s just a couple from the last few days:

Via the oldest:

“My name is Penguin Man. I can freeze people, launch fireballs out of my butt, and make mountains crumble!” Someone thinks he is a superhero whose superpower involves farts. Awesome. I truly do have a boy.

Conversation today with the girl:

Me: “Who is that on your shirt?”

The girl: “Da Princesssssss.”

M: “But what’s her name?”

G: ” I dunno.”

M: “That’s Cinderella.”

G: “Cinner Grella.”

M: “No, Cinderella. Cin-der….”

G: “Cinderrrrrr.”

M: “Rel-la.”

G: ” Gorwillaaaaaa. Cinderrrrr Gorillaaaaaaa.” Runs off laughing maniacally.

Another shining example of how well my children listen to me.

Later Bitches!

Too Busy to Bitch

15 Apr

Bitch of the Day:

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. When have I ever been too busy to bitch’? I really have been, though. I’ve been too occupied to even glance at my blog, much less post to it. I’m still playing catch up after the plague. Unfortunately, my chore list didn’t cease to exist just because I felt like shit.

Why is it when I’m sick, I not only have to fend for myself, but also continue to take care of everyone and everything else? None of the slack gets picked up when I’m down for the count. Even though I wait hand-and-foot on the husband when he is sick and do my best to make sure he is comfortable, does he take the initiative to do more around the house when I feel like death? Does he takeover caring for the children so I can rest? Does he even do the chores HE is responsible for doing? The answer to that would be a big, fat, fucking NO.

Yes, my husband got the plague, too. And yes, he had it bad – but – he was the last to get it. Which means he could have stepped up when he was still well and I just wanted to die. It sucks being sick and having to watch the state of your house disintegrate – especially when you are as anal-retentive about your house as I am. Keeping up with your kids’ medication times and dosages when you feel like ass and can’t focus on anything is risky at best. But worst of all, having to do your husband’s share of household responsibilities while ill just so you can attempt to make your home somewhat inhabitable is like being kicked in the teeth.

Now that we’re all well (relatively speaking,) has the negligent hubby uttered one word of thanks or appreciation for taking care of everything and everyone? Please refer to the previous questions for the answer. Karma’s a mofo, though. The plague wreaked havoc on the hubby and gave him a ruptured eardrum. I’m not saying he deserved it or that I derived any joy from him suffering – I didn’t. I’m just saying…..   He’s fine, so don’t go thinking I’m horrible. His hearing will come back, eventually. The $60 in prescriptions I had to pay for will most assuredly cure him of his ails.

So, yeah. After all that, I’ve been running around like a crazy woman disinfecting the house, catching up on laundry, working on the yard, grocery shopping, yadda yadda yadda. I have been in the yard everyday since Saturday spreading grass seed and attempting to get it watered so we’ll have something more  for the kids to play on besides poison oak and fire ant hills. I say attempting because my hydration apparatuses were not sufficient at watering the whole lawn in a day’s time. I finally found a few oscillating sprinklers the other night that will cover a  large expanse of yard and it made me so giddy I could have pee’d. No one should be this happy about sprinklers. Ever. Too bad I didn’t find them sooner. Otherwise, I might have saved myself from the dumbest sunburn I have ever had in my entire life.

Since we have no grass, only weeds and ants, wherever there is water there is mud. Down here, when there is mud, you wear your “Sorrento Reeboks.” For all you non-coonasses, Sorrento is a little podunk town close to where I live in which a lot of good ol’ boys wear these “Reeboks” otherwise known as galoshes, rain boots, etc. These:

Look at the boots, not my absurdly pregnant belly

So yesterday and today as I was making mud, I donned my boots whilst wearing shorts. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Behold! The world’s dumbest sunburn:

You can even see the little notch from the back of the boot

I don’t even begin to know how you even that out. If anyone has any suggestions, I’m all ears. Also: Ouch. It is on FIRE!

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

Even though it is the root cause of my ridiculous burn, I am very happy about my yard. One of our relatives called in a favor and had someone come out and tame the jungle that was my lawn. My yard hasn’t looked this good since we moved in. I was able to spread the grass seed and roundup all the areas we don’t want grass to grow. It’s one more monkey off my back. So thanks, Cuz! I owe you a Strawberry Abita or a Banana Split Daquiri. 🙂

In other news, even though he is entirely too much to handle some days, my son amazes me everyday with how smart he is. My son is five years-old, hasn’t started kindergarten yet and he can read. I couldn’t spell my flipping name when I started kindergarten. As we’re riding down the road or watching something on t.v., he’ll ask, “What does _____ mean?” When I ask where he heard the word, he’ll point to where he read it. He takes it upon himself to sound words out and only asks for help as a last resort. Don’t get me wrong, the kid isn’t reading Nietzsche or anything, but the fact he can read his books by himself is pretty freakin’ impressive. If you ask me, anyway.

Lastly, I got to go out tonight! Can I get a hell yeah? Can I get an Amen? I went out and had wine (and chocolate fondue omfg) with one of my favorite co-workers.  We sat outside, enjoying the nice weather with our wine and chatted. It was nice to get out of the house after being bound there for so long by the plague. It was also very refreshing to talk to someone  her age (23) that is focused on her goals and determined to meet them, no matter what. Even if it means leaving all she knows in order to make it happen. That’s bravery. A rare quality these days. You go, girl. I’ll say I knew you when… 🙂

Later Bitches!

Da Plague! Da Plague!

3 Apr

Bitch of the Day:

Tattoo should totally be on my roof, screaming that phrase to all that pass so they dare not enter here. *If you don’t know who Tattoo is – ohmygodyoureyoungandimfreakinold – you youngins can Google him. He was the midget on Fantasy Island (he preferred to be called a midget rather than ‘little person’ much to the chagrin of all other ‘little people’ activists.) Who knew he was French? Raise your hand. You really do learn something new everyday. Moving on.

The crud has once again fallen upon my house. Every being in this house is sick. The cat is even acting peculiar. Seriously, isn’t there some kind of lifetime cap on how much snot one person has to deal with? There sure as shit should be. If so, I’ve met the designated quota for twenty lifetimes. You bitches without kids can thank me for taking your share. You know you’re a mom when: You go to work thinking you’re look really cute, work all day serving customers and eight hours later come home, look in the mirror and notice what your customers have been seeing ALL DAY. Dried snot, all over the shoulder of your cute little black dress. I am SO hawt.

Since this past Tuesday, we have been to five different doctors. I have spent $180 on doctor visit copays, $86 on prescriptions, $10 on disinfecting supplies and $12 on ice cream. Why did I include ice cream? Because it’s all I can effing eat. After all that, you’d think we were all fine and dandy. Well I can’t say that. As George Carlin once said, “Not me. I never say that. You know why? Because I’m never both those things at the same time. Sometimes I’m fine. But I’m not dandy. I might be close to dandy. I might be approaching dandy. I might even be in the general vicinity of dandyhood. But not quite fully dandy.” We aren’t on the same planet as dandy. Not a single one of us is better for the time, money and snot spent trying to get well.

They won’t give Lil’ Man hardly anything when he’s sick. I understand the hesitation to treat children under one year-old. But I don’t understand how his doctors can see the way he is suffering, how truly miserable he is and how he has made absolutely no improvement this week using the same old crap they prescribe him every single time and not at least consider trying something else. Or for Pete’s sake, give me some ideas on what I can do at home to try to alleviate some of his symptoms. If I hear ‘It’s just gotta run its course’ one more time, I’m going to go postal. I’m not a hypochondriac mom. I don’t take my kids to the doctor for every little thing. I do try to let things run their course, but when my ten month-old’s eyes are caked completely shut with green ooze which has also aggravated his eczema to the point of huge, red rings of raw skin under his eyes, has completely clogged nostrils that somehow still run incessantly and a cough that is constant and wakes him up all night long, I tend to worry.

I took Lil’ Man for a second visit today to a different third world country quack with no bedside manner whatsoever doctor since I was going to get checked out for a second time as well. The only thing I gained from his visit today was that the ear infection he was treated for on March 18th (!) has apparently never cleared up. Seems his effing pediatrician could have spotted that when she saw him two days before. I’m truly hoping that the antibiotic the new quack prescribed actually works for his ear AND treats some of his other issues. She also prescribed drops for his eyes used to treat pink eye. But he doesn’t have pink eye. Someone is getting screwed and I didn’t even get flowers first.

This was the first day. The red rings of raw skin didn't show up until the third day.

The girl was slow to get the “sickness” as we’ve started referring to it. She was the last one to get the ooze and cough. She always seems to have snot for some reason. We started to treat her eyes with the first pink eye prescription which was an ointment (again, they’ve told me over and over the kids DON’T have pink eye.) Her eyes cleared up quickly so I got excited. It was short-lived. She awoke this morning with eyes sealed shut and one was swollen to the size of a golf ball. WTF? Her cough is the most concerning. The small hypochondriac mom deep inside me thinks whooping-cough every time I hear it. It hurts my soul.

The oldest was the first one to get it, as usual. If there is a definitive downside to being a stay-at-home-KID, it’s that their immune system doesn’t get the workout that a daycare-kid’s does. Since he started public school, our household has suffered various stages of the “sickness” pretty much all year-long.

This time, convinced he had pink eye, I took him to see the doctor instead of waiting it out. As a second thought, I asked the pediatrician to check his ears. Let me fill you in about the boy’s ears. I have never seen the kind of wax that is in his ears. They are like rocks. Round, hard, nasty rocks. I’ve known for a while there had to be something wrong going on in there. I mean, who the hell has wax-rocks in their ears? He never complains about his ears, though. The pediatrician always looked in his ears at prior visits and she didn’t say anything other than he had build-up. He had a physical in February. They said his ears were full and to use over-the-counter drops that would “bubble” it out. Yeah, not so much. So I figured since we were there anyway, she could check them again for us.

The news was not good. Both ears were completely blocked. I knew all hell was going to break loose. My son is a drama king when it comes to any medical procedure, no matter how small. The doctor pulls out a plastic tool that resembles a crochet hook. He sees it and instantly freaks: covering his ear, screaming, crying, embarrassing the ever lovin’ shit out of me. I coerce him to cooperate by threatening to take away one of his favorite new activities – judge me, I don’t care – it worked. She started extracting some of the wax and realized early it was too hard to get out without making him scream. I told you, rocks. She goes back-and-forth between water irrigation and using the hook. She still can’t it all out. There’s more after all that????? She moves on to the other ear. There’s a large piece that she can’t get out with the hook. She gets a tiny alligator clip to pull it out. This is where he has to be held down. Not because it hurt. Because he saw it and thought it was a needle and wouldn’t accept it wasn’t. She got the disgusting object out and found a bad infection behind it. I am a horrible mother.

We made another appointment to come back in two days to check the infection after she prescribed antibiotics for the infection and drops to soften up the stuff we couldn’t get out. When we went back she was able to get more out with the hook and water irrigation but his eardrum was completely compacted and there was no way she could get it without busting it. Long story short, we went to an ENT doctor and they got the remainder out, screaming notwithstanding. They tested his hearing and he didn’t pass on certain parts. He has fluid behind both ears. If after six weeks the fluid doesn’t dissipate,  we’re talking tubes. The doctor starts asking me questions about his behaviors at home and school, “Does he do this…..Does he get in trouble for this…..?” When I answer “Yes” to most of his questions, he tells me that my son is not acting up nor is he not paying attention, he CAN’T HEAR. I am the worst mother on the planet.

I’ve written-off a lot of his not listening to me or not paying attention as him being defiant for a while now. It never occurred to me he really couldn’t hear. We have to have him moved up in class so he can hear the teacher and give her the report showing his test results. Maybe now she won’t be such a raging bitch to him all the time. I doubt it, but we can hope.

The hubby and I have the funk as well. I’ve missed two days of work and am no better for the two doctors visits I’ve been to. Neither of them gave me anything for pain or swelling in my throat. They gave me antibiotics for sinusitis and an upper respiratory infection even though they don’t know for sure that’s what I have. I told the third world country quack with no bedside manner whatsoever that I couldn’t swallow my own spit much less the horse pills the other doctor prescribed me. What’s she do? Prescribes me more pills, none of which are for pain. Thank goodness I still had a small stash of pain meds from my last c-section and a surgery I had a few months ago. Without them, I have no idea how I would have made it through the weekend. I am feeling better this evening, finally. It helps when your throat isn’t closed shut and you can swallow your medications. Time for a new pediatrician and after-hours clinic. They won’t get another damn dime from this bitch.

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

I’m really racking the old brain to come up with anything positive to say here. This week has truly been hell. Even though I was really sick, one of the worst in my opinion, I still got stuck with the brunt of all the caretaking, cleanup, feeding, chauffeuring to appointments and disinfecting the house. I thought about doing bad things to the hubby while he slept all day yesterday. Ever the martyr, I just bit my tongue and wiped snot all day. But he paid this morning. I waited until 1:00 a.m. to tell him HE was on morning duty and I was sleeping as late as I wanted to.

I still got woke up several times by Lil’ Man since he sleeps in our room. I also had to get up to call into work, but it’s still the most sleep I’ve had in months. I’ll take it. Sleep is seriously underrated before children. Why does no one tell us how lucky we are when we can sleep in every weekend if we wish? Instead, the evil-doers who already have kids always want us to get up early, go do this, that and the other and then they bailout early to head home when we still have morning crusties in our eyes. I understand NOW why they had to do things early and why they had to be home by certain times but did those bitches enlighten us then? Nope. They wanted us to think having kids is all coos, sweet giggles and kisses. They couldn’t wait to see us suffer as they did, and we do. Wait, this was supposed to be the happy part. I got sleep, and it was good. Moving on.

Even amidst the sickness, I finally got my truck fixed. The ‘check engine’ light that has been a red, glowing reminder of how poor I am for the last two years has finally been extinguished. It only took spending $835.50 so I could get an $18.50 inspection sticker for my truck to avert getting tickets. My a/c is still not fixed but at least I won’t be polluting the pristine air quality of south Louisiana with my minute carbon emissions.

Later Bitches!

To Bitch or Not to Bitch

29 Mar

Bitch of the Day:

I could sit here all day and bitch about this, that and the other. I certainly have enough material to do so. My heart just isn’t in it, though. Bitching about life’s little annoyances and monotony seems a bit petty when compared to what others are going through. This past week or so has been riddled with a lot of upsetting news or sad memories involving children. Like most of you, when something tragic involves a child, I take it way more to heart since I’ve had my own children. I’m not going to go into any of it on here because I’m emotional enough for all you bitches. There’s no need to drag you down to my level.

So screw it. We’re skipping it this time. I’m going to pull rainbows and sunshine out of my ass if I must to make this a happy post.

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

All of these events did not happen in one day, obviously (otherwise that would have been one badass day.) This is a conglomeration of moments from the last week that were particularly awesome:

1. I mentioned a while back about reaching a certain weight that would make me a happy bitch, indeed. Not only did I meet that goal, but I’ve gone below it. I wanted to maintain it for a few weeks before saying anything for fear of jinxing it. Like announcing it would cause the voodoo priestess of all-that-is-fat to put a hex on my ass. I’m a superstitious bitch, sometimes.

I feel great about myself for the first time in years. Now that my body has returned, somewhat, to how it was before having children, I am not as self-conscious. It’s liberating in the way that it’s once less thing hanging over my head. I have enough crap to worry about; my thunder thighs shouldn’t be one of them.

2. Because of the weight loss, I wasn’t left with a whole lot in the way of clothes. Lucky for me, the hubby’s fashionista aunt decided to clean out her spring/summer clothes from last year that she could no longer wear and voila! I have an entire closet full of new-to-me clothes. I have emptied my closet of all the things I can’t wear anymore and have arranged to give them to someone else who can use them. I’m elated that I didn’t have to spend money I don’t have on clothes and that I am also able to help someone else out. Reduce, reuse, recycle folks. Also: Free shit rocks.

3. Break out the wine because here comes the cheese. Last weekend, as I was attempting to weed eat the overgrowth in my backyard, the damn weed eater died on me. I stormed to the front yard where the hubby was mowing and proceeded to curse and fume and plot the destruction of said weed eater. On the way back through the backyard to toss the stupid thing in the shed, I happened to look over where I had actually cut some of the grass before it died because something caught my eye. I thought it was a rat at first. Upon closer inspection, it was a tiny, baby bunny. Can I get a collective, “AWWWWWWW!!!!”

This was on up there on the list of cutest things I have ever seen with my own eyes. I quickly realized this poor thing was stone-still in the spot I had just severely decimated with a weed eater. Oh shit. I killed it. I swear, tears were already forming – I am that girl. I rushed up to it and it still did not move. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! I picked it up and it finally made an attempt to move. Whew!!! I just stood there looking into its little face, petting its silky fur and repeating over and over in my head that there’s absolutely no way I could keep this thing. Nope. No way. Not gonna happen. Well, it wouldn’t…NO! But the kids….HELL NO! I have a crat…..I will smack the shit out of you.

After talking to myself for quite a while, I took it up front for the husband to ohhhh and ahhhh over. He’s as big a sucker as I am. We decided to take it in for the kids to see and pet. They, of course, went absolutely gaga over it. The girl kept trying to poke it in the eye for some reason. The boy said it could sleep in his bed. Ok, time to put it back outside. There was a mild tantrum over not being able to keep it but I’m still happy I let them see it. The hubby and I set the little bunny down in the yard and tried to coerce it into hopping away. For a minute it refused to move. See, it wants to stay here. It likes it here. It’s the least you can do after scaring it half to the death…SHUDDUP!!!!! It finally took a test hop and, after realizing we weren’t going to come after it, took off like a shot into the woods. Cutest. Thing. Ever.

4. After a long period of not being able to, I finally got to spend time with family and friends the last couple of weekends.

I’ve had a couple of friends come down from out-of-state and had a blast spending time with them. It was nice spending time with people I feel so comfortable with. That makes for a very relaxing and fun time. The “Hand Grenade” probably helped a little, too.

One friend that came in for a visit is very preggo. I hadn’t seen her since she first found out she was expecting. I finally got to see her baby bump (so cute) and give her some of my old baby gear while she was here. Again: Reduce, reuse, recycle.

I also had the opportunity to go out with a few of the cousins to celebrate an upcoming wedding which was so much fun. It was at a total dive but we wound up drinking for free the whole night. Again: Free shit rocks! Also, it’s not a party until someone projectile vomits on the front, glass doors of the establishment – especially when you realize the person who did was part of your table. It was hilari-ralph! Maybe too much free shit can be a bad thing. Nah.

Lastly, I got to go to the wedding and see lots of our family that we haven’t seen since the funeral earlier this year. It was a beautiful occasion and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I am so happy for the couple and wish them all the best throughout the years.

I wish we were all able to get together more often. I’m like an addict when it comes to spending time with friends and family. I get one taste and I instantly crave more. I guess there are worse things to be addicted to. You don’t see too many women pulling tricks to finance a trip to see Grandma. I readily admit that my children are probably the reason I desire so much time with other adults. After spending much of the day pondering how it is I have snot on my shoulder once again, is it any wonder? I wouldn’t trade them for anything, though. Snot or not, I am very thankful for every moment I have with them. No matter how crazy they make me, at least they are there, happy and healthy.

Later Bitches!


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