What I do? Really? Are you kidding me?!

You want a little bit of information on me?  That’s a loaded question.  Be careful handing me a loaded gun asking such things!  Shame on you…people should know better!  Don’t ask such hard questions to such busy-headed minds!  So, where to start?

So I just had to submit a short bio for something, and it went a little something like this…

Hi!  My name is _________.  I’m a full-time mother of three children (8, almost 7, and 1 1/2).  I am a full-time wife, chef, housekeeper, dry cleaner (minus the ironing), chauffeur, homework specialist, zookeeper, circus ringleader, plate twirler, veterinarian to a stinky English bulldog, school chaperone, school volunteer, and most importantly a juggler of anything important, incredibly valuable and extremely breakable, or just a juggler of all things at one time (things you can’t actually juggle).  On the side, I go to school part time to finish my degree, I coach my daughter’s soccer team, while attending all of my son’s soccer practices and games as well, and maintaining all of his social anxiety/OCD therapy sessions on a weekly and bi-monthly schedule at two-different places.  Also, I have an ex-husband to throw into the mix.  And my current husband works a lot.  If I’m lucky, we get him home on a Sunday, mostly we get Tuesday.  Seeing that I get absolutely no time to myself, my venting is blogging.  A lot of it may seem negative, but I’m not a negative person.  That’s just my only outlet.  It’s my only escape – I can’t yell at my kids, my husband or the dog when I have a bad day.  So it goes into the computer.  

I feel like that doesn’t even begin to cover half of what I do!  HA!  🙂  Thanks to you fellow readers that stick with it through it all!

 

A three ring f’ing circus.

Don’t get me wrong – I am not all negative all the time.  I LOVE my life.  I have an amazing life, and I laugh everyday until I cry.  I have it great.  I have the best kids and husband ever.  My dog is okay, but he can be a bastard face a lot of the times.

I just post a lot of negative things on here because this is my outlet.  This is where I vent.  I can’t vent to my kids – obviously – because I’m usually complaining about something they did!  And I’m definitely not going to be that mom that complains to her kids, yells at them, and makes them feel like little pieces of shit, because they definitely don’t deserve that.  They’re amazing.  And they’re actually incredibly well behaved and awesome kids.  I’m so proud of the way they’re turning out.

I just write a lot of negative crap because I can.  I can complain on here.  I can voice my opinion, my thoughts and fears, and announce my irritations to the world.  To anyone besides my kids.  That’s basically what it comes down to.

Now that I’ve said all that…

I’m taking the kids to the movies today to see The Lorax.  I can’t wait.  Know why?  Because they’re so excited they’re driving me f’ing crazy. They’re bouncing off the walls, couches, and everything else they’re not supposed to be doing, because they’re so excited they can’t stand themselves.  Little bastards.  (Just kidding!)  But seriously, everytime I tell them we’re doing something and they get crazy excited, they start becoming maniacs.  I just had to yell at my daughter, who is incredibly well behaved in almost the perfect way, because she was jumping from the coffee table to the couch, and vice versa.  What the f—?  I definitely didn’t raise them to be doing that.  At this time – that’s when I’m grateful for my crazy pills.  Whoever invented them is a freaking genius.  And my new lover.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.  Sometimes it’s like a three ring f’ing circus around here.  With three kids, who are six, five and six months, and a one-year-old stubborn ass English bulldog, it gets insane.  Like crazy insane.  When one is sick, tired, hyper, in a bad mood…anything ranging from good to bad, everything around here changes dramatically.  Because when one isn’t happy, they piss the other one off on purpose constantly (the big kids).  And when the baby isn’t happy and she’s screaming and crying – no one is happy.  And when the dog gets a wild hair up his ass and becomes that instant asshole that he does randomly – no one is happy – again.

And when the hubster is home and all this craziness is happening, the poor guy goes crazy.  He can’t handle it.  He always says, “and that’s why I go to work.”  And I roll my eyes (in jealously) and wish I had a job at those times.  He’s so lucky he gets away sometimes.  Even though it’s to work.  Poor guy.  Once again – here is my daily chance – Thank you God for putting him in my life and all he does for us.  He busts his ass to support us.  And he doesn’t get thanked enough.  I tell him as much as I can.  But even thanking him everyday doesn’t do him justice I don’t think.  He’s just that amazing.  Jealous?  You should be.

And guess what my freakin’ son just did.  Hopped over the back of the couch onto the floor.  What the f.  No way.  It’s time to go.  Or time to knock them out.  Is that allowed?  Can I just knock them out until it’s movie time?  Now he’s running from one side of the couch to the other.  Time to go…

***UPDATE***

Right after I posted this, my daughter came to me and told me she wanted an MP3 player.  She has an iPod touch.  And she’s 6.  I know, spoiled rotten.  I just got so upset.  Thankfully, my medicine helps me hold back what I actually want to say (you little beotch, you have the best iPod touch there is and you’re 6, don’t be an ungrateful bastard.”  Instead, I say, “You have an MP3 player.  You have the best one they make.  It’s your iPod touch.  They don’t get any better.  Now if you’d like me to get rid of it, I’ll gladly sell it and get money for it and buy you a cheap one.  Is it not good enough for you?  Would you like a little MP3 player you can’t play games on and download games onto?”  And she said, “But I still want an MP3 player.”

Holy hell.

Holy Muffin Top :(

I need to go on a diet.  Or start working out.

That’s the first time in my life I’ve ever had to say those two sentences.  Ever.

I was always considered blessed that I could eat whatever the hell I wanted, whenever I wanted.  Well, all I have to say is karma is a bitch.  I know someone out there cursed me to get me here.  Someone had to have said, “Man I just hope that skinny bitch eating all that food gets fat one day.”  Or, “Look at that skinny bitch shoving all that food in her mouth – just wait, it’ll catch up to her.”  Or even, “Please make her fat.  Now.”  So to whoever the hell you were – all I have for you is one finger.  And a big ol’ F bomb to drop.

I canNOT get rid of this baby weight.  With the first two kids, immediately afterwards, I was back to normal, wearing size 0 jeans, eating whatever I wanted.  Not exercising to stay skinny, just naturally blessed as a thin girl.  Not anymore.  It’s my turn to bitch and complain about my weight.  I’ve always had to hear about it, but never had to do it myself.  Now, I am.

So the answer is simple, right?  Work out.  Exercise.  Eat better.

Someone tell me how the f to do that, and I’ll do it.  Give me a schedule.  No, better yet.  Hire me a maid.  And a nanny.  And a personal trainer.  And while you’re at it, have someone follow me around with a fan if I’m hot, or a blanket if I’m cold, but of course, only one that has been kept warm for when I need it to be, like at the hospital.  And make sure everything around me is coated in gold.  Or better yet platinum.  Platinum and diamonds.  Yes, that’s what I want.  Platinum, diamonds, nannies (one for morning and night, per kid), maids (one per person while we’re at it and one for the dog), waiters, servers, ooohhh bartenders…yummmmm….personal bartenders.  And a personal doctor.  Not for the help, just for the medications they can prescribe.  A personal bartender and prescriptions whenever I want?!?!  Hell yeah.  That sounds much better…a little margarita here, shot of tequila there, anti-crazy pill washed down with a beer.   Now THAT sounds like fun.

Wait, am I getting off track?   What the hell was I ranting about?  Oh yeah, my muffin top.  My fat ass and huge thighs.  It’s definitely not ok.  It’s gotta go.  But let me ask: when am I supposed to do all this working out?  When I’m running around with a spoiled ass 6-month-old, who can’t be put down, who takes 20 minute naps?  While I’m trying to get my schoolwork done?  During homework time after school while I’m feeding the baby or trying to keep her from screaming at the top of her lungs while Boy says, “I can’t do my homework when she’s screaming like that!  I can’t concentrate!”  While I’m pushing a vacuum around, holding a baby, trying to shoo the dog away from the vacuum…Or when I’m making dinner for 3 kids and trying to be a referee as well?  It’s like I work in an f’ing circus.  I’m a ring leader.  It’s an open animal barn.  Everyone strap on a helmet and hope for the best.  Make sure you don’t step in dog pee or dog piss along the way.  And who knows what you’re eating.  Just close your eyes and shut up.

I’m thinking the best thing for me is diet pills.  Or prayer.  Or just plain dumb luck.  Or maybe the weight Gods will focus on someone else for awhile…