All You Need

Excellent Thanksgiving, if I do say so myself.

It was just me and my boys this year. They don't eat my cooking so I decided just to do a turkey and some green beans. Perfection. I now know what I was doing wrong all those years. My turkeys were always either under cooked or over cooked. Here's the secret to making the best Thanksgiving turkey...are ya ready? Get a pencil...listening ears on??? OK....when it comes to making Thanksgiving dinner you only need to remember one thing- the turkey. That's it. Seriously, all you need is the fucking turkey. When you don't have all that other shit to distract you.....pies and casseroles and potatoes and blah blah blah....you can focus on the star of the show- the turkey. Make everyone else bring shit. I suck at multitasking. I own that fact.

So, the turkey was beautiful, the boys were AMAZINGLY well behaved, the weather was freakishly gorgeous (we spent a good 2 hours outside blowing bubbles!!!)...no complaints:). I even got to watch the damn parade. I can't remember the last time that happened. Admittedly, I've been a bit on the blue side lately but today I was all smiles. 

Turkey Day Montage Follows:

Weird Face

Scared/Suspicious/Stink Face 

"Hey, look! There's something amusing on the wall" Face

Us Face

Dinner- Turkey, green beans, and pie. All ya need:)

Thanksgiving slumber party in the living room!

Philosophical debate on why Meet the Robinsons does not have a plausible plot line.

Ari remained neutral on the matter.

 This little man takes the cake. All day he was an absolute dream. Everything we've gone through (and continue to go through, just not as often) and he finally seems to be at peace. Such a wonderful day and memory.

Happy Thanksgiving. Give us a smile. 

Marry Me, Kirsten!!!

Well, here I am. Single. Alone. Solo. Half a King size Twix (don't think about it...it makes sense, I promise). Married for 11 years. Divorced for 2. I am beginning again:).....:/. Fuck.


So, all my friends keep telling me (because they are too adorable to come right out and scream "THANKFUCKINGGOD I'M NOT YOU!") that I'm so lucky I have this time to really get to know ME. Explore. Celebrate being single! My darling best friend said these words to me today "even when you're lonely, the person you are alone with is you. Lucky." OK so it really is sweet because she's trying to imply that she thinks I'm awesome. But here's the thing....I've met me and I'm not really all that awesome. I mean yes, I can be amusing and charming for a couple of hours but really after that I ain't so great. 

In the spirit of not acting like a depressed asshole that spends hours stalking her ex-boyfriend's new gorgeous girlfriend on facebook, I decided to take last weekend and do a little catching up with myself. I wined (metaphorically speaking, of course, since I abhor wine) and dined (again, metaphorical.....unless you consider meals consisting of giant Symphony bars and string cheese to be a complete dining experience;) my bad self out the motherfucking wazoo. See, I charm. 

My first official solo outing was to the Christmas lighting on the square. At first it wasn't half bad. I moseyed around leisure like until I found a nice little bench in the shadows away from the crowd. Honestly, this was a difficult test. The aforementioned ex-boyfriend and I used to enjoy walking around the square and sillying it up amidst the magic lights. I thought finding a dark corner would be apropos given my recent inability to not sob at the drop of a hat. There I was, enjoying the moon and fantasizing about Kirsten Dunst eating bacon (I'm....not....joking). All was calm and then...all was bright. And I assure you, I am not speaking metaphorically now. I mean literally every inch of the square as well as every living being within a mile of the square were suddenly BRIGHT!

They did the count down to flip the lights on and for some reason it didn't occur to me that the lights were all around my happy ass. HELLO! Wondering where the horny depressed lady who is constantly checking her phone to see if someone, ANYONE has texted her currently resides? Why she's sitting over there on that glowing bench by the giant 500 watt bushes. Ya can't miss her! The first me date promptly ended. I ran home to my Symphony bar and Cupcake Wars.

I guess the point of this post is to announce that from henceforth I shall be reporting my adventures in dating.....myself. YAY!....again, fuck. 

P.S. I understand the whole "ya gotta love yourself before you can expect to love or be loved by others" adage and I fully intend to take this time to do yoga and "find myself" and all that crap but I'm telling you right now I draw the line at the mirror activity.

DANG! How is that the same little vampire shit from Interview With a Vampire??? I really need to knock it off with the apocalypse movies but Melancholia is one of my favorites....mainly because of this scene;). See, I enjoy life in my own way.

Boobies-Nature's Stress Ball

Well, it's been a while and I was hoping the next time I posted "things" would be better. The six year old is off of the old drugs and now onto a depressant. While he is no longer channeling Jack Nicholson in The Shining, he is far from being at peace. In a way I think we are right back where we started. Sorry to be a Debbie Downer but them's the brakes.

After all of my observations I have come to the conclusion that my little ADHD gremlin is mainly plagued by serious anxiety. The boy needs some coping skills. GOOD GOD, does he need coping skills ! He isn't able to focus on learning coping skills at the moment because his brain is so wackadoodled. I'm calling his doc on Monday to talk about his medication. Not much I can do about it this weekend so for now we will live our lives inside and away from.....everyone and everything. Yay! Jail's fun, y'all!

So let's talk a little bit about MY coping skills. I'm not going to lie and say I'm a walking copy of Dr. Spock but I have to admit I do try to keep my freak outs to a minimum. When an incident happens my mind instantly goes into hyper drive, trying to fix the problem (and in most cases problems) as fast as I can without someone getting kicked in the ear or pegged in the balls with a DS.

As soon as I think I have things under control I slip out of sight to commence with my super awesome genius coping strategy. I'm sure you know where I'm going with this. Candy. Twizzlers. M&Ms. Skittles. Twix. York's Peppermint. Hershey Bar. Kisses. REESE'S! It's SO awful and I know my body fucking hates me but I'm not joking when I say that it's either candy or alcohol.

On the few occasions where I've had a couple of yummy girly girl drinks I liked it. I liked it WAY too much. I make an effort not to drink more than once a week because I know it would become a problem. Me being large and in charge isn't going to hurt anyone. Me being drunk off my ass all the time would most certainly hurt everyone. Me and sugar- BMFFF.

I'm certain that the amount of stress I feel when I'm around my children during peak freak out time would fucking kill an elephant. Needless to say, the path from my house to the closest gas station (or as I call it "Candyland") is worn the fuck down, baby. I've gained 20 pounds this year. Believe me, I've tried to stop the gross eating but as long as I have 4 boys I don't think that will ever be possible. Besides, they like me "squishy". Being thin is overrated, anyway. One day I'm going to write a post that doesn't have anything to do with crazy children or candy. Do you believe me?

HERE'S JOHNNY!!!....Dang! Look at those teeth!

Why can't I have teeth like that? Oh yeah.....sugar:/

Worn But Not Broken

"God Damn. God Damn. God Damn. What the hell is wrong with you? Use your brain. Oh, you don't have a brain because you're lazy and I know you lost your job. I know you got fired you stupid liar. You're ugly and you're a liar. All you do is sit around all day long and you don't even have a job and you can't afford a good car. I wish you weren't my Mom. You're such an idiot. You idiot. You dumb stupid idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. I want to go live with Dad so I don't have to look at you or ever see you. You're the curse of my life. You bully. Mean idiot. Why why why, Mom? Why do you have to be such a jerk?"

These are the exact words that came out of my 6 year old's mouth. I couldn't find his hat this morning and these words are my punishment. Every morning and every evening he recites some variation of these lovely words to me. All I have to do to inspire these words is to exist. Do I correct him? Fuck yeah. Do I spank him? HELL yes. Do I put him in a quiet area so he can calm himself down? You betcha. I've done it all. I have employed every strategy under the sun. Nothing helps.

I feel like I live with a verbally abusive spouse. It's a little different, however, because I have unconditional love for him. And I know he's sick. I KNOW the chemicals in his brain aren't quite right. I know this because when he's on his ADHD meds he is a completely different kid. Focused, loving, peaceful....my child. The child that grew from the adoring baby in the picture is my son. The child that says the above words to me is not my child. I know that. Those words that he says to me do not define him but it still cuts me when he says them. I'm worn down and I'm just about ready to break.

Get up at 5:30 every morning. Stand in the scalding hot shower to work out the giant knots in my back and neck. Get 4 children ready for school. Take them all to school (2 different schools). Go to work. Pick them up. Take them to therapy. Take them home. Make dinner. Give baths. Put them to bed. Work on lessons until 10:30. Pass out. I....am....worn.

I'm getting him a psychiatrist. I don't want my son to hurt me or anyone else. I am worn but not yet broken. I have the other 3 boys giving me bear hugs and kisses and loving words and appreciation and patience. Worn... but not broken.

Just....keep....swimming.

Happy Belated Candy and Boobs Day!

When you're single (or married without children) Valentine's Day is all about you. Look at me! Gimme stuff! FEED ME EXPENSIVE FOOD! And then be understanding when I pass out before Valentine's sex because of all the expensive food. Heehee. Ooops!

All that shit is fun, don't get me wrong. But you a suckah if you think it lasts...or if you think you would WANT it to last. Maybe I'm a weirdo but the idea of getting all fancied up and spending a fuck ton of money on food just to be muffin topping out of my control tops doesn't sound like a super awesome Valentine's Day. Sounds kinda suckish to me. Don't look at me! You fed me cheese! I'm lactose intolerant! YOU POISONED ME AND NOW I'M FATISH!....do me a solid and grab me some scissors so I can cut myself out of these control top panty hose.

Here is where I reveal my problem. Mostly I'm not ashamed of my problem. I really don't SEE it as a problem. But I guess it is....a problem. Yoga pants. I love yoga pants. All I want to wear is the yoga pant. They're so comfy and slimming (shut up, they are) and I can eat and eat and they just look cute and don't make me look fat (SHUT UP!). OK, I know they're the new version of the Mom Jeans but I don't care! They make me happy.

OK so yoga pant obsession aside I do realize I'm a woman and I do like to feel sexy (as long as I don't have to be uncomfy...had to add that stipulation). Knowing that I would never spend the money on pretty lady items myself the Super Boyfriend gave me a gift card to Victoria's Secret. He is, after all, the Emperor of Romance;).

It being Candy and Boob Day (That's what I call Valentine's Day because it's really all about eating candy and showing off your boobs. Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you) I decided to brave the Mall and partake of the pretty panties. Bare in mind, this wasn't an easy trip to make because I've gained weight.....slid past curvy and moved right on into plump but I'm cool with it. Pumped and excited to have something new and kid booger free, I sauntered into the Mall ready to get my sexy on.

Aw! Look at that beautiful knocked up lady! Nope. No baby. Just a Double Doozie Cookie.

One step into Victoria's Secret and I literally said out loud "Sweet Jesus, they have sweats!" (sweats being a close second to yoga pants). Man, sweats make me love life but that's not why I was there, dammit! After some tough love self talk I resolved to walk away from the sweats. Two steps away and damn if I'm not smack dab in front of Razorback sweats. Come on!!!!! Oh, I wanted them bad. I almost did a little tantrum jumping.

Moving on, I found lots of ridiculously short nighties. Not my forte but I was game. That was the fastest I've ever tried on anything in my life. It's not that it looked bad I'm just not a lacy frilly little tiny bows everywhere kinda girl. Totally appreciate it on other women, just not on this woman;). The perfect compromise was a cotton striped nightie. Plain, simple, boob pads- perfect!

Nothing is going to make me give up my yoga pants. Whether I'm 115 pounds or 145 pounds, I must have them. I'm a working single Mom with a boyfriend that lives 4 states away. Kinda easy to say "fuck it" and frump it up.  But I am going to try to make an effort to feel a little more womanish. The boyfriend (Who is, by the way, the most kind, loving, sympathetic, understanding, giving, hilarious, amazing....he's God, OK. He's superhuman and possibly an alien because Earth people aren't that wonderful) deserves a girlfriend that actually looks like a girl.

Happy 2 Days after Valentine's Day! Eat your candy and show off your boobs! Especially if you're this bitch (said with affection and love because although I don't know her I find her proportions tantalizing as well as unfair as all get out).

I found her on Pinterest. Would it be weird if I added her to my "Want It Bad" board? God Almighty!

Momma Alice Economics

Smug little fucker, isn't he?

You people have no idea the lengths I go to in order to please my boys. They are boys, after all, which makes them inherently incapable of being completely satisfied. See what I did there? Little man hater jab;). Sorry. As my ex says "gotta laugh to keep from crying". Love that one. Makes me feel like shit every time I hear it and yet I still appreciate the pithiness.

Back to the boys. My boys go to an all year round school which means they are out of school three extra weeks out of the year. On those weeks us working people have to shell out 60 bucks a kid for special classes they offer. In truth I think it's pretty dang cool. They get extra art, music, science...all that good shit. Anyway, one of the classes I signed the 6 and 8 year old up for is a movie class. I know, after all that big art talk a movie class doesn't sound super impressive but they watch good stuff so shut up. Since it's a lounging activity they are allowed to bring blankets and pillows. It isn't mandatory. It isn't necessary. It is not a need. It is a want. (yes, I am a freak about my SUPER greedy boys knowing the difference between needs and wants). Mistake #1- Thanks afuckinglot, school, for the blanket and pillow suggestion.

SO, being the good Mommy that I am I ran through the rain back inside the house to gather a blanket and a pillow for the 6 year old (totally forgetting the 8 year old=Mistake #2). I found one small blanket and a pillow pet. Mistake #3-Exactly how is a pillow pet going to fit in your 6 year old's itty bitty SpongeBob backpack, genius? Anticipate the tantrum, Alice. ANTICIPATE THE SHITSTORM! Lady, this is your first and foremost job as the 6 year old's Mother. What do you think is going to happen when he can't fit it into the backpack? Seriously, disappointed in you. You deserve what's coming. All I'm sayin'.

Thinking the 6 year old is going to love and adore me for bringing him his pillow pet I raced back to the car...through the rain. I threw him the pillow and blanket leaving him responsible for packing up his gear (Mistake #4....man, I just keep getting smarter and smarter). I ran through the rain (I like mentioning that over and over.....BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING RAINING) to the driver side. By the time I got to my seat the screaming had already ensued.

At this point we're late which isn't a super huge deal because it isn't "real school" but at the same time.....I want them the fuck out of my car because they are driving me bat shit crazy. So I backed up even though I knew the 6 year old was reaching a boiling point. Realizing this shit was not going to go away and I needed to nut up and handle the situation I parked again and ran to the other side of the car to help him....in the rain.

I have to admit I have a spacial impairment (can't parallel park to save my life) but even I could see this shit wasn't going to fit. It was at this point that the 8 year old mumbled "It's ok. I don't need a blanket or pillow. I can just put my coat over me even though it's covered in my snot". So then I had the brilliant idea to let the 8 year old have the blanket and the 6 year old have the pillow pet. It's a win win. The 8 year old gets something cuddly and the 6 year old can fit the damn pillow in the damn Sponge. Plus the 6 year old would SO go for sharing because he loves his big brother and he would never want him to be without a cuddly, right? Right? FUCKING RIGHT????? Yep, Mistake #5.

Needless to say, that suggestion didn't go over well. The only option I saw was for him to simply carry the pillow pet. Nope. "Everyone will see and think I'm a baby!!!!!". Oh, holy HELL! During this entire exchange he is flipping his shit. The harder I tried to help him the more he screamed and kicked. Add to that the 3 year old yelling "stop being mean to him!!!!" as I was trying to HELP him. And so I did the only thing I thought I could do. There was no other way. Mr. Frog Pillow Pet needed to be free. Not a "want" but a definite "need". And so I freed him by throwing him out of the car and into the rain. Done and done. Inappropriate and emotionally damaging? Sure. Absolutely necessary to focus my rage on the inanimate object instead of my child? Yeah, I kinda think so.

Everything that happened after that is fuzzy. I recall part of a lunch being thrown all around the car and possibly some hissing.....maybe some speaking in tongues. Whatever it was I do remember thinking it was highly unpleasant. #1 Mission For Today- find two small pillows and two small blankets. #2 Mission- eat a fuck ton of chocolate. I'm well on my way to completing the second mission so I'm gonna go ahead and call this a productive day. Pitty pat on the back.

Happy Hump Day! Hump a pillow pet in my honor;)

Can The Heart To Hearts

My 6 year old hot mess.

Tonight my 6 year old showed renewed interest in the ancient Leapster from yesteryear. After getting all these newfangled techy gadgets from their Dad they all seemed to fall out of love with the older crap. He was loving it and I was encouraging this love affair because the games are educational and not violent. "Let's take a quiz about Polar Bears"....fuck yeah, man! I'll take that over SuperMario any day.

Anyway, I gave him warning after warning that bedtime was coming but of course he threw a huge shitfit when I finally made him turn the Leapster off. "YOU JERK! I HATE YOU! WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN TO ME? YOU JUST WANT TO HURT ME AND MAKE ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF!"....Um, what the fuck! He's the one calling ME a jerk! So, I spanked him (shut up) and forced him to sit on the potty to calm down and pee (no wet beds on my watch).

While sitting there I explained that I was simply asking him to go to bed while HE was calling me names and making ME feel bad inside.  Expecting more hissing and "I hate you"s I was completely taken aback when he calmed down and gave me a completely unfamiliar look. It took me a while but I finally realized that look was actual sympathy and understanding. WHAT? Serious Twilight Zone shit. Maybe I should have more heart to hearts with my boys while they're on the potty....or as they like to call it "the can". Lovely, I know. Once again the bathroom unites us as a family.

SIDE NOTE ABOUT SHIT MY KIDS SAY: The other day my 3 year old's teacher relayed a darling little conversation she had with him at school. He was sitting on her lap and out of the blue he asked her if she "ever farts on people". Exciting stuff. Super exciting. Mortified but not surprised, I had to laugh. Deep down I was thinking "Oh Christ, please tell me he didn't say anything like "well, MY Momma farts on people" during this conversation!". Not that I do..............OK fine. I threaten to on rare occasion. Hey, my boys don't respond to the "make good choices" approach. But the idea of being farted on is enough to scare them straight. Thankfully I haven't had to follow through with this threat...yet. 

Listen To Your Mother Auditions!!!

Yeah, I'm gonna need all you Northwest Arkansas Mommas (and Papas) to represent in this Listen to Your Mother production. I, myself, can't participate. I'm public speaking impaired. The deadline for auditions (Simmer down. It's just an essay) is February 29th so get off your asses and write some shit down. I promise I'll go watch you. I might even take my top off and throw it off the stage. And if I'm too lazy to do that (which is the more likely scenario) then I'll just throw chocolate at you. DO IT!

Love,
Alice

Like Water For Madonna

Riddle me this...why is it that on the weekends when I'm completely kidless there is absofuckinglutely nothing that interests me on tv but the second I get them back all of a sudden there's a shitload to watch? Honestly, I didn't expect my children to watch all of the Superbowl with me. I'm not completely delusional. I tortured them for 30 minutes of it...well, really I was the one being tortured because they were so not interested they were all but back flipping naked off the couch to distract me. I switched it on over to SpongeBob fully intending on slipping away at halftime to try and get a glimpse of Madonna. "Slipping away" is a total joke. If the 3 year old could figure out how to duct tape himself to my ass he would. The second I leave his sight he bolts frantically from the room in search of my whereabouts. Why I thought tonight would be any different is beyond me. So I sneaked into the big boy's room for a quick looky loo at the half time show. The instant I sat down the 3 year old was on top of me screaming for water.

3 year old: Mommy gimme water!

Me: OK sweetie, just wait 5 min...

3 year old: MOMMY GI-MME WATER!

Me: I'd love to, I swear to God! Just let me watch this. It won't last long.

3 year old: NOW!

11 year old: Can I have the remote? This is awful music.

Me: NO, 11 year old! 3 year old, hold on, sweetie. I love you! Just give me this one thing. It's all I'm asking!

3 year old now literally on top of my head: I DON'T CARE I DON'T CARE I WANT WATER GET UP!

11 year old: This is MY room. I shouldn't have to be subject to this kind of torture in MY room!

6 year old screaming from down the hall: Mom, the 8 year old has my brush! GET IT FROM HIM! HURRY! LIFE AND DEATH, MOM! IF YOU DON'T COME RIGHT THIS SECOND YOU DON'T LOVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me frantically trying to peek through all the arms and legs: I'M BEGGING YOU GUYS! PLEASE! I'LL GET YOU 12 GALLONS OF WATER IN 2 MINUTES! I'LL BEAT YOUR BROTHER IN A SECOND AND GET YOUR BRUSH BACK! PLEASE!

................and that concludes Madonna's spectacular half time show. Ah, blow.

So then, like a fucking 2 year old I stomped into the bathroom and gave him his water all huffy and ridiculous. Just as I'm at the climax of my Mommy tantrum the 8 year old ran into the bathroom with my phone all ecstatic that he figured out how to take photos and said "Hey, Mom! Smile!". Of course, in true split personality form I immediately flashed a big smile. He handed me the camera and I melted into the floor as I looked at my 3 year old's giant grin in the picture.

Oh, poor me. Alone all weekend. Sleeping in. Laying on my ass and doing whatever I want. Eating Symphony Bars willy nilly. Then these children invade my life and bother me with their demands and unconditional love and adoration. Jesus, WHY ME! I swear, sometimes I marvel at how absurd my brain is. Who gives a fuck about Madonna. No question mark because that's totally rhetorical. Yes, my children do need to respect things that are important to me but watching Madonna sing in THE most boring outfit ever worn on television truly does NOT fall under the category of "things that are important to me".

I am not afraid to out my bad Mommy moments. Super flawed as I am, I know I'm a good Momma. BUT I am not super human. I'm still selfish as all hell. The difference is my ability to recognize when I'm being a dumb ass. And I was.

Fly That Morbid Freak Flag, Boy!

My boy does pottery and poetry. Yeah, I'm not worried about this one.

My 11 year old jumped in the car after school yesterday brimming with pride. He wrote a poem. And here it goes...

Shadow Girl
Her grave lies beneath the tree
of sadness and despair.
But the strange thing about this story
is that she's never there.


Her eyes are fired with anger,
her mouth is filled with blood.
Her heart is empty from the loss of
her parents in the Great Flood.


She reveals herself at dusk
and rids herself at dawn.
Although she seems to make her
visit infinitely long.


You will all soon believe in her
soon after you have ate.
She will sneak up on you
and before you notice... it's too late.

As you can imagine I cried heavy love tears when I read this. The boy's got my lovely dark sense of humor. We're THIS CLOSE to being able to watch horror movies together. This almost makes up for the fact that I will never have a daughter to wear matching outfits with.

Yearning to share in my pride I showed my Mother his poem. Yeah, she wasn't as impressed. After making a couple of horrified faces she said "maybe you should show him some real poetry". FLASHBACK: I was in the 4th grade filling legal pad after legal pad with what I thought was genius poetry. My Mother took a gander at one of my favorites. It didn't go over well. I believe one of the lines was "death to all lawyers by feather and tar". I was crushed that she wasn't as in love with it as I was. Sure my Father was a lawyer but what does that have to do with my poetry? I don't get it. It's a mystery to this day.

Anyway, my boy's teacher let him bring it home but she wants him to bring it back to school Monday so she can make copies of it. Hopefully not for DHS. Hey, I support my boys and their freak flags. If they want to write morbid poetry it's gonna get framed and mounted on the wall. Word.

Potty Humor

Yep, do dumb shit and you're gonna get your picture made.

This is what I don't understand- what IN THE NAME OF GOD is the deal with my children and bathrooms? When they get sick they are super pathetic but do they take preventative actions so they don't get sick? Oh HELL no. I honestly do not remember wanting to spend a whole lot of time in the bathroom when I was little.  My boys treat the bathroom like it's fucking Disney World. Here are my rules for the potty room....the rules I created based on personal experience because my children have absolutely NO common sense, which I suppose is somehow my fault but whatever...

1. Never eat a waffle while going poop. In fact, how about we just not even take the fucking waffle into the bathroom. That would be super. My 8 year old once asked me to serve him fried chicken whilst he did his business. Yeaaaaaaah, no.

2. When we go into a public restroom and I say in my bestest preschool teacher voice "Ok boys, pretend you're glued to the wall and let's play the quiet game" that does not mean "Boys, I now want you to scream as loud as you possibly can and somehow end up touching the toilet seat". How does this happen? I can kind of understand the screaming thing because I sometimes find it hard not to belt out a good Adele tune in the echo-friendly bathroom but the inching (and sometimes full throttle running) toward the toilet????? IT NEEDS TO END!

3. This one is a life lesson for us all......training potties are generally smaller coming off of your head than going on. Probably best just to not put them over your head at all.

4. Please do not come into Mommy's bathroom, pilfer through her drawers, pull out tiny fingernail scissors and say "Mommy, can I give you a haircut?". You're giving me nightmares here, pal.

5. Now this one is super important, K? Listen carefully. Are you ready? Please......don't.....put legos....in the toilet......AFTER YOU POOP! I know. I'm blowing your mind. It's a crazy ass rule but hey, I'm a crazy ass Mom. Oh and also if you wouldn't mind please do not poop in a toilet your Brother just pooped and put a lego in while I am frantically searching for something with which to retrieve said poopy lego. Seriously, you guys are killing me.

I'm sure I'm leaving out millions more rules but I don't have time to write them as I now must go clean toothpaste off of the ceiling. How? Not sure. But I AM sure there will be 1-4 small children rallied around me dunking toy boats in the toilet, eating a 4 course meal, using maxi pads as weapons or bedazzling a training potty. Guess what, though? I can say all this with a smile because I NO LONGER HAVE TO CHANGE DIAPERS!!!!! Ha! Heeheehahahaheehee...oh yeah, oh fuck yeah!

A Handful of Moments

One of the suckiest things about being a single Mom of four semi-demanding "if you don't pay attention to me right this second then I'm going to assume you hate me and love the others more" children is not being able to give them 100% of my attention when they need me. The second one of them needs me you can bet your ass there are at least two others that need me, too. They all start talking/screaming at me at the same time and I'm overwhelmed with anger because I want to give them what they need. It pisses me off but it's physically impossible to please everyone therefore there is always someone who feels neglected.

To make matters worse, I still don't have a job. I'm subbing a lot and doing the best I can but it's stressful as all hell. The one saving grace about being a subbing Momma is I have the flexibility to volunteer in their classrooms. Last week I showed up in my 8 year old's class to help stuff folders. I had no idea this was going to be such a big deal. When I walked in the classroom my boy lit up with pride. I felt like a rock star. All the kids kept coming up to me asking me whose Mom I was. The rest of the day I must have received dozens of hugs from my 8 year old. And his little chunky butt can give out some scrumptious hugs. Damn, I wish I had done this sooner! That would be my Proud Momma Moment #1.

Momma Gets An A Moment #2: I'm always looking for sub jobs and when my 5th grader's class was needing a sub I nabbed it up without a second thought. The icing on the cake was the fact that it was on his birthday. I realize that subbing in my shy, often humiliated by everything 11 year old's class on his birthday could have seriously backfired on me...but it DIDN'T, so HA! I made a vow to myself not to be as hard assed as I usually am. As a sub I always have to be "on" because the kids treat me like a sub. It's hard a shit! But I couldn't do that to my big boy. Not only did I win them over but I handed out chocolate bars at the end of the day. That's right....full. size. chocolate. motherfuckin. bars. Oh yeah. They loved me. I even heard a little girl say "she's cool for a Mom". THANK YOU! My big boy told me it was the best birthday ever. Sweet Jesus, yes!

Momma Loves You Moment #3: My baby boy (the 3 year old) was home sick and I have a rule that when one is sick one needs donuts and chocolate milk. So, we went to our favorite donut shop and settled down in a booth with WAY too many donuts (as usual). We started playing a color game (my boy's smart but the color identification thing needs a lil work). After we identified the color of the donut baskets I praised him up and down to which he replied "I love you, Momma". Damn, if he has asked me to buy him 50 more donuts after that I woulda. There's no better feeling than when one of my boys does that pause thing and then tells me they love me. It's like they're really appreciating the moment. Or it's gas.

Now when it comes to my 6 year old...well, these moments aren't as cut and dry. One second I'm the "best Mom in the world" and the next second I'm the "worst" (yep, his words). The moments that make my day when it comes to him are when he "gets it". When the light bulb goes off and he truly understands me and I truly understand him...that's my miracle of the day. Tonight he wanted some chocolate. I was just about to hand it over when he stopped me and said "Wait. I'll do you a solid since you did me a solid. You wanted me to eat the pizza so how bout I eat the pizza and then you give me the chocolate?". OK, to you people this might sounds ridiculous but I don't think I've smiled that big in weeks. There wasn't a tantrum. There wasn't any kicking or scratching or screaming. It was bliss. Plain and simple. I think the "THANK YOU" I shouted in my head was so loud I almost popped an ear drum.

You know that shit parents say about needing those handful of moments that make it all worth it? They ain't lyin'. These moments...plus the Zoloft...keep me coming back for more. I want to make them proud. I want them to see me for who I am. I want them to "get me". I want them to pause and think about how they love me. Most importantly I never want them to doubt that I will always be here to snuggle on demand and help them make guitars out of water bottles and offer up my copy of The Hobbit from when I was a kid and try my damnedest to get Obi-Wan Kenobi from the LEGOS Star Wars video game to jump up on the ledge so he can use the force to lower the bridge (even though we all know there's no way in hell I can actually do this NO MATTER HOW FUCKING HARD I TRY.....stupid video games). I love my boys and they love their Momma.

sidenote: I'm beyond disappointed in the interwebs. Not one single youtube video on how to make a milk jug guitar????? You let me down, google.

Deactivate My Ass Right Back To The Real World

So, I've been off Facebook for a week and I gotta say I feel pretty damn good about it. I deactivated my account so I could force myself to get my ass up and do some laundry. Oddly, I never had the urge to hop back on there.

What I miss about Facebook:
1. Pictures of fat squishy babies eating cake that are so fucking cute they make my my boobs lactate.
2. .....yeah, that's about it.

What I don't miss about Facebook:
1. Creepers-Hey dirtbag assholes, lay off the God Damn married ladies and taken men!

2. Creeping- there's nothing more disturbing than finding yourself browsing a strangers photos and thinking "Aw! Look how sweet her baby is and WOW her kids have gotten so big and I wonder what park they're at in this pic and HOLY FUCK I'M A STALKER!"....gross.

3. False Advertising-do ya REALLY think I look like that in real life? Really? Suckah!

4. Low self-esteemers, need not apply- When I find myself up at night wondering why no one found my status about Shasta orange soda to be worthy of neither a "like" nor a comment.....I gots the problems.

5. TIMESUCK- My ass hurts. Time to go outside.

6. BRAINSUCK- I know I blame my kids but I honestly think being on Facebook has decreased my IQ...and it wasn't that impressive to begin with.

7. Mister Jealousy Devil- BITCH, STOP WRITING ON MY BOYFRIEND'S WALL ABOUT GETTING BRUNCH!....oh yeah, we ALL know what "brunch" means, ya dirty ho. Uh huh. Yep. Aaaaaaand I'm pathetic.

8. Pedestals- For some reason people take that false advertising way too seriously and actually think that someone's Facebook profile IS who they are. Then their hearts break when they discover that there is no such thing as a completely honest Facebook profile. "OMG, you have 4 boys and you're divorced and you're trying to find a teaching job and you're sometimes funny.....I LOVE YOU SOOOOO MUCH! You're like the BEST most fucking fantastic amazing human being I've ever known!......Hold up.....dude, you never take your kids to the library. Oh......never mind."

9. Soapboxes- Here's the deal...I actually love reading all that shit because I'm dumb as fuck and I need all these rantings to teach me about what the hell's going on in the world. However, when you post shit after shit after shit after shit AND THEN you post a picture of a man in Afgahnistan or wherever stepping on a baby girl in hopes of choking her to death....you can FUCK. OFF. God DAMN, I'm still having nightmares about that one.

10. People who take Facebook so fucking seriously. That one really doesn't need explaining, now does it?

Yeah, the sad thing is I'll probably be back on in an hour when I'm drunk:/. Fucking Facebook.