My Family Tree is Full of Crazy

This is my ADD brain...

This is my ADD brain on a soapbox...

Why are people so effin' crazy??!!??  And why are all the effin' crazy people related to me?!?  

There is nothing I hate worse in the world than a deadbeat parent; yet, my family tree is full of them.  And they just keep fornicating and procreating like it's nobody's business only to have more effin' kids with effin' loser parents and no chance in the world of ever becoming "normal" effin' people!!!

Deadbeat parents are not the only pet-peeves that seem to flourish among our branches.  How about refusing to be accountable or responsible for one's own action?  Even worse, what about playing the victim where everyone else is to blame for what happens?  The old "Yes, I did it, but it's her fault" syndrome.  I just want to rip out someone's eyeballs when I hear shit like that.

Yes, Officer.  I did drive through the red light, but it was the car in front of mine's fault.  If she would have been a little faster, I could have gotten through the intersection on yellow. 

Blah, blah, blah.  Well, if my aunt had a penis, she'd be my uncle!  And if Jesus Christ himself were hear, He'd strike your ass down with a bolt of lightning!

Life is what it is.  Accept it and try to make the best of it.  Do right by the people in your life.  If you have a family, take care of them.  News flash...  Life is not about YOU!  Hello?!?!  Heard of Sodom and Gomorrah?  I repeat.  This life AIN'T about YOU!

When you bring kids into the world, you better make damn sure that you put their needs and best interest FIRST.  A real parent sticks out the tough times for those kids.  When money is tight and things are hard, a real parent works 2 or 3 or even 4 jobs to provide for those kids.  Food and diapers come before BEER and smokes.  We'd all love to live on the beach with the sand between our toes and the wind in our hair and not a care in the world.  And one day, that just might be possible.  But for now, there's a mortgage to be paid, kids to feed, and a family to keep whole.

Marriage is hard.  Parenting is even harder.

Love is not that feeling in the pit of your stomach.  That's called I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-knock-some-boots!!!

Love is holding your hand as you bury your parent.  And paying for the burial without so much as a single word about it.  Love is cleaning the toilets and bathing the kids at night while your partner cooks dinner and washes clothes.  Love is leaving work to deliver lunch money.  Love is family game night and late night tippy toes into your bedroom.  Love sees beauty through love handles, cellulite, and wrinkles. 

Love is also admitting when you're wrong and saying you're sorry.  Love is not giving up when you really, really want to.  Love doesn't run away.  Love is mature and responsible and sometimes a little boring.

Love is not a feeling; it's a damn commitment.  A commitment to do right.  For better or worse.  Sicker or poorer.  Married or not, if you have kids the same rules apply and should be bound by law.  You play house and bring kids into the world, you gotta play by house rules.


Boring is good.  Normal and drama-free is good. 
 
If you are reading this and you are related to me, this may be hurtful.  For that, I'm sorry.  Honestly.  But sometimes the damn truth has to be told and sometimes it hurts like hell!  How about you straighten your asses up?!?!  Maybe then I'd keep my two cents to myself.  But when you act like idiots and perpetuate your idiocy with more ignorant behavior, I just can't take it!  I swear if we weren't kin, I'd delete you from my cell phone.

Ya gotta grow up.  It's an unfortunate side effect of the aging process.

Now, put on your big girl panties or your big boy drawers, and fix. Your. SHIT!  It damn sure ain't going away just because you run away.

And people wonder why I live in Boringsville, USA, six hours away from my relatives...

If You Want Optimism, Watch Oprah

I started out this morning thinking, God, I hate new years' resolutions; I always feel like such a failure. 

I rarely stick with anything.  My one success?!?  I quit smoking, and that wasn't even a new year's resolution.  That was an I-don't-want-to-die-from-mouth-cancer-after-a-dental-checkup-nightmare.  Hypochondria and biopsies under general anesthesia don't exactly go well together. 

Turns out, this isn't the first time I've pondered the thought of my resolution failures.  Apparently, this is an annual thing for me.  Been there, done that, yet I keep misplacing the t-shirt.  My disdain for new years' resolutions continues.  I'm an obvious glutton for punishment.  Click on the link and see for yourself.

In order to kick off the year like everyone else with a head full of dreams (but with zilch motivation), here's what I've got:

1. I will not eat liver.  Of any kind.  It's the poop filter, folks!  Need I say more?

Oh, were you looking for more?  Please, it took all I had to come up with that one.  Feel free to borrow it if you'd like.  You're welcome.

7:40

A new record was set this morning at the LB home.   

Go, E!  Go, G!  Go, Mr. OCD!  I didn't think it was possible, but all your team work paid off.  It was a hard fought battle, but you finally broke the previous record.

*insert roaring crowd and We Are the Champions by Queen*

Mama is so proud of her precious darlings.  No, they didn't find a cure for cancer.  Nor did that end the war in Iraq.  In fact, I don't think they even realized the greatness of their feat which makes me the sweetness of this moment even more, well...sweet. 

Mama had a much dreaded doctor's appointment this morning.  For some reason, I have severe issues with death and dying which has kicked my hypochondria into high gear.  My age and my weight are the biggest two contributors to my paranoia.  I will be 45 this year, but my kids are only 5 and 6 years old.  I am scared to death that I will die before they've grown and started families of their own.  I am PETRIFIED of the uncertainty and inability to control this unfortunate part of the human life cycle.  Consequently, I focus on those things I can control (until my ADD kicks in and I forget why I can't eat butter straight out of the tub) like my cholesterol which, by the way, is out of control again.  Uuuuggghhh...I need to post flashing billboards all over the place that say:

"KEEP YOUR FAT ASS AWAY FROM SATURATED FATS & GET MORE EXERCISE, HEIFER!" <------ (I wish I knew how the hell to make that thing blink, but learning HTML is not on my bucket list at the present.)

...but I digress.  Oh well, it's my ADD and my freakin' blog post.  If you've hung on this long, you must be curious about the spectacular feat.

Now where was I?  Oh, because I had the appointment with my doctor, Mr. OCD decided to go in late and keep the kids.  (Nice of him seeing as they are his offspring, and I am his near-death wife.)  Incredibly, they let me sleep until....drum roll, please...7:40 a.m.!!!  That has never been done over a school break, ladies and gents.  NEVER.  7:15 a.m. was about as late as it ever got.  Christmas gifts come in all shapes and sizes...

As for my blood work, I haven't heard back.  I'm not optimistic, though, and I expect all will come back "just fine" which 1.) further confirms my severe hypochondria, and 2.) means there's no medical reason for my ass to be as big as the state of Texas.

They Take the Vacation Out of Christmas Vacation

Day one of Christmas vacation, and I'm reminded of why I work. 

E:  Mom, G hit me!

G:  He hit me first!

E:  Whaaaa!  She pinched me, and I did nothing.

G:  Whaaaa!  I hurt my toe!  Hold me, hold me, hold me!

Me:  G, get out from under my bed! (Santa has presents hidden there.)
G:  I'm not under your bed! (a bold-face lie because I can see her rear-end sticking out)

Me:  Get out before I spank you.  (an obvious choice for punishment since her little booty is a staring me in the face)

G:  Whaaaaa!!!  Well, I'm calling my daddy.

E:  Can we go to Walmart to buy me a toy?

Me:  No, Santa is coming this weekend.

E:  Whaaaaaaa!  I'm calling my daddy.  I think he will say "yes."

E:  Mom, G won't get out from in front of the T.V.!

G:  I'm having school for Lonnie and Lathan.  (That's her white girl baby doll and her black boy baby doll, respectively.)

E:  Whaaaa!  She pinched me, knocked over the Christmas tree, and kicked the dog (the latter two are complete fabrications for dramatic effect).  I did nothing to her!  Whaaaa, whaaa, whaaaa!

G:  Whaaaa! Bubba (the poor dog) just ate my cinnamon roll!

Me:  Both of you go to your rooms and take a little time out!

G:  Mom, daddy wants to talk to you.  (That smart little heifer has figured out how to dial his number.)

at least they're pretty cute...

This was all before 8:00 a.m.  Apparently, daddy is the more permissive better parent.  Tomorrow, I may just drop them off at the post office and sleep in my van for a few hours. 

Which leads me to another issue...sleep.  Or should I say, lack of sleep.  I had those kids sleeping 12 hours a night every night at six months old!  Now that they can walk and talk, they up every single night.  My son is first.  At around midnight, he crawls into my bed.  Practically on top of me.  We have a queen-size bed, but we only use about 2 square feet of it.  Daddy knows the drill, and just sleep walks up to E's room.

Then at around 5 a.m.-ish, in comes G.  To lay in my lap.  I have E up my butt crack and G up my...  Well, you know.  Needless to say, I'm up.  It's Christmas vacation, and I have to get up at 5:30 a.m.  Oh, G goes right back to sleep.  No problem there.  And I could easily go back to sleep as well.  E, however, is a light sleeper who is stirred by his sister.  He tries to stay asleep but only ends up tossing and turning.  Into my back.  Keeping me from a restful slumber.

I told Mr. OCD this afternoon that he better have a big chunk of money in the bank because this week is going to cost him.  Since the only time they aren't fighting is when we are "out," I've got an outing planned for every day of our vacation.  Today, I took them to the movies.  Tomorrow, Paint a Piece.  Wednesday, the Children's Museum.  Thursday, Story Time at the library.  Friday, ice skating at the zoo.  Daddy time, Saturday and Sunday. 

Rinse, lather, repeat!  I'm ready to go back to work so I can get some rest!

He's Six!

This extremely handsome little dude with no front teeth is six years old today. 

Nearly seven years ago, I camped my happy ass in some stirrups while my husband "worked" in the den of love in order to give me an injection of the most beautiful specimen in the world!

Nothing sucks more than infertility.  It was one of the hardest things to endure.  I prayed and prayed and subjected myself to daily fornication (without the pleasure) followed by pillow props, leg-lifts, and temperature readings.  In desperation, I tried everything from standing on my head to acupuncture.  Finally, when I could take no more, God intervened and gave me this...

Ahhh...  my beautiful miracle

~*~*~* HAPPY BIRTHDAY, E! *~*~*~ 

You are the greatest Christmas gift this mama could ever get.

Definitely His Mother's Son

My nearly 6 year old LOVES Christmas!  Remember last year when he stood outside with a box full of his toys trying to give them away to all the passerbys?  He loves to give gifts nearly as much as he loves receiving them.  It's quite sweet, actually, but can become an addiction if we aren't careful.

Take this week, for instance.  The PTO at his school hosted a "Santa's workshop" full of junk.  The kids were given an opportunity to shop for presents.  For a price, of course.  A very steep price, to be exact.  He was very excited about it, though, so I gave him $20 on Monday with instructions to buy presents for his family.

When I picked him up from school after his shopping excursion, he couldn't wait to get home to wrap them.  Not only did he buy gifts for our family, he bought them for a few of his friends.  Oh, and one for himself.  The entire ride home, he talked about how much fun it was going to be to do it again the following day.

Oh, no sir!  You've done all the shopping in that store of junk Santa's workshop that you are going to do!

No way in hell was I going to give him more money for that place.  For twenty bucks, he came home with a plastic rat (no lie...a damn plastic rat for his uncle.  Sorry, Beeg), a "Greatest Dad" hat, an "I Love Mom" stuffed bear, sparkly compact mirror, and a Santa bell necklace.  The damn PTO ought to be ashamed of themselves!  Taking advantage of poor little 5 and 6 year olds like that...  $20 for a few Dollar Tree trinkets??   If you need money, just ask.  Don't peddle junk to unsuspecting kids.  Shame on you!

But I guess it was more about the joy he received from it.  Right?!?  Oh, and when I told him I wouldn't give him any money, he replied with "If you don't have any money, Mom, they will take a debit card."  Really?!?!  Did the PTO actually advertise that fact? 



No, no, NO!  You are very sweet to be so giving, but we can't spend all our money on gifts for others.  (I felt bad for that comment as soon as it came out of my mouth.)

Little Mr. Determination never, ever takes "no" for an answer, and this time was no exception.  Instead, he robbed his own piggy bank.  Since he just had his birthday party and received several monetary gifts, that bank was fresh on his mind.  Before school, he grabbed another $20 and put it in his pocket.  When I picked him up, he had another big bag of loot.  He was too excited or else he'd have realized that he probably should have hidden it from me.  "Look, Mom!" with the biggest grin you've ever seen.

Oh, where did you get all that Sweetie?

"Daddy gave me some money!"

Really?  Well, I'm going to have a little talk with him!  I hate to admit that I actually believed that story.  I was furious with my husband because he is such a passive parent.  Anything to keep them from screaming.  As I pulled out my cell phone to rip Mr. OCD a new one, I saw the panic in my little darling's eyes.

"Okay, Mom.  I'll tell you the truth.  I got money out of my piggy bank.  I took one with a twenty on it.  Are you going to tell Daddy?  Is he going to spank me?" 

When I told his daddy, I was shocked at his response.  I was expecting him to hit the ceiling and freak out as usual.  I anticipated that I'd have to talk him out of a full-blown tirade.  After all, I'm usually the voice of reason in our family.  That's what I do. 

Instead?  Mr. OCD just laughed and said, "Well, he's his mother's son, isn't he?"

E showing off the goods.

Uggghhh...  I hate when he's freakin' right!

She Would Have Been 63

Today is my mom's birthday.  She would have been 63 years old.  Funny how 63 seems so young today, but seemed so ancient when I was 20.  That's less than 20 years away for me.

Shit, I hope I make it longer than that.  My kids will barely be in their 20s when I hit 63.  I've got to take better care of myself!  Lay off the Dorito's, skip the ice cream, and go to the gym more!

I was watching something the other day about an interview John Lennon did just three days before he was killed.  The broadcaster asked him about a reunion with the other Beatles, and he stated that there was still plenty of time left to do it.  Three freakin' days later - BAM!  He's killed by the bullet of some psycho.

I'm sure my mom had plans for when she was older.  I remember when she'd start thinking about quitting smoking.  She'd always remind me that my grandmother smoked every day until she quit at age 72.  My grandmother smoked for a gazillion years, and decided that a gazillion and one was just too long.  She quit cold-turkey, too.

My mom had stopped smoking a few years before her death, but I wonder why she even bothered.  She was so sick.  Smoking was NOT going to be the death of her.  Nope.  That had already been determined 20 or so years earlier.  If she'd only known...  If anyone had known...

In retrospect, it seems ridiculous that blood donations were not tested until recently.  I think the AIDs epidemic provoked that change in the medical community.  Seems kind of dumb, though.  After all, if you think about the people who gave blood and platelets back in the day when the blood banks PAID for it, it only makes sense that the blood would be less than desirable.

Said the blood bank to the masses:  Come on in, Mr. Heroin Addict with no job!  We need your blood, and we'll give you $25 for it.  Yep!  $25 that you can use to buy more heroin.  It's a win-win!  

I'm surprised that anyone who received blood products prior to testing is still alive.  Or are they???

AnyADDmomentramblingthroughmybrain, I hope that I live to be a very, very, VERY old lady.  I can be crazy as hell and blind as a bat as long as I have a pulse and a heartbeat.

I wish my mom could have been a crazy, blind very old lady.