‘Dismissed’

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‘Dismissed’ Self-Portrait

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Didn’t expect my first self portrait of 2017 to be kind of depressing looking. Geez! I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come this year. :/

I was actually in a decent mood when I took this.  Of course, it was only 7am and everyone was still asleep, so I had no reason to be blah….yet.  As the day went on however….BLAH!  Maybe subconsciously I knew that when the the kids woke up they would act like awful demon spawns sent here to test every ounce of patience I had “kids”.  Ah…yes, my little angels! By the end of the day I was run ragged.  Didn’t help that I also felt old yesterday, I don’t usually feel that way, but I’m starting to notice how gravity is taking over my face, and I hate it. Thank goodness for make up, and Photoshop, and boobs that distract people from looking at my face. Even I, in this photo am staring down at my boobs, thinking “you’re all that’s saving me, don’t let me down, boobs!”

“Type hard, like you mean it!”

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52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 39

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‘Adventure Awaits!’

The photo theme for week 39 was “Road Less Traveled.”   My kids seem to find the adventure in everything, here they are “mountain climbing”. Was quite the task for them. I hope they can hold on to that imagination for a long time.

246211638-Imagination-quotes.jpg“Type hard, like you mean it!”

52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 31

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‘Venom’ Self-Portrait

The theme for my week 31 image was ‘Smoke’.

A few things happened this month.  I turned 42 on the 10th, and also this month marks the 10th anniversary of when I quit smoking.  Prior to that I smoked for almost 19 years, if you are good with math you’ll figure out that I started when I was 13 years old, you know…because I was cool.

I’d like to go back and kick my 13 year old ass. Now that I have a 13 year old daughter I find myself doing that thing, you know the thing, the thing that all parents do, try to save your kid from making all the same mistakes you made as an adolescent.

I’d like to think I have a great relationship with my 13 year old, we joke around a lot and have an open line of communication. No topic is off limits.

Most days when she’s leaving the house I give her a hug and add, “I love you, don’t do drugs, drink, smoke, or have sex. Have a great day!”  She rolls her eyes while laughing (in my head she’s laughing, it’s mostly eye rolls), and I giggle just hoping that what I say will stick with her.

I think I’m doing alright though. To take this photo I needed to have smoke. I asked my husband to stop at the store and get me some type of E-cig, or like the cool kids call it ‘vape’, or is it ‘vaper’? Shit, I’m so not cool anymore. My daughter was with with my husband when he went to purchase some, she was worried that this would be my gateway to smoking again.  The fact that she was so disgusted with the idea of smoking brings me some comfort.  For now I’m pretty confident she’s not interested in lighting up, chances are she feels the same way about drugs too.

I’m always preaching about how drugs, drinking, and smoking can mess you up, especially at her age. Now…as for the sex part, I have nothing bad to say about sex. Sex is amazing!!! Just not when you are 13! lol

“Type hard, like you mean it!”

52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 19

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‘Sugar and Spice’ ~  My two little ones.

The theme this week is ‘Watching’.

These are my two youngest girls watching daddy out the window. They are getting ready to wave good-bye.

None of us can leave the house without it being a big production. The girls need to stop whatever they are doing, run to us while saying, “hug, squeeze, kiss” (sometimes 3 or 4 times) before we go, then they sit in the window to wave good-bye as we drive off. Even if we are just running a quick 5 minute errand, we have to do this ritual.  There are times when it can seem frustrating, especially when we are only running down the street to grab some milk, or if we are in a rush and need to get going.  However, I try to remind myself that there will come a day when they don’t even look up to say good-bye, or acknowledge my existence. So for now, I will always take the time to indulge in this little ritual, even if it takes waaaaaaaaay longer to say good-bye then it does to actually run any errands.

 

“Type hard, like you mean it!”

 

 

52 Weeks Of Photos ~2016~ Week 14

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Animals in bed! Rwoar! ~ {Self Portrait}

The theme for this weeks photo is ‘night’. I contemplated going outside and taking photos to really capture the true essence of ‘night’, I quickly decided against it because it’s a pain in the ass for me. Getting all my stuff together, finding something to shoot, being alone in the dark. Meh! Not what I enjoy doing. Aside from all that, I go to bed stupid early, 8:30ish…..it’s still sort of light outside when I go. I’m old! That’s why. Shut up! It’s just a matter of time before I start eating my dinner at 4pm. Okay, I may have done that on occasion too.

I wasn’t going to stay up late just to go outside and struggle to find a photo op. I starting thinking about how ‘wild and crazy’ I really am. Going to bed so early, and being too tired to do anything after a certain time. True party animal here! *sarcasm font needed*

That train of thought led me to the above image. I like the contradiction of being animals in bed, but not in the good way. You know I mean sex, right?

When we bought our house 9 years ago we decided to change the four bedroom floor plan and convert it into three bedrooms.  We took two of the rooms, knocked down their walls, and made the Master bedroom….you know, because we weren’t going to have any more kids. Yeah…. well… we decided to have more kids. Hindsight.

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For real!!

Now having four kids and only three bedrooms, guess where the little two kids sleep? In our room, where that other room used to be, only now there is no wall for privacy. Awesome, right? No!

So no, we are not animals in bed! Now…. the bathroom, garage, basement, kitchen, living room, car, and backyard are another story. We are animals there! Rwoar!

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My wonderful husband! I love that dork.

“Type hard, like you mean it! “

 

 

“We don’t put crayons in our vagina”……and other things I’ve said to my kids.

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In case you were wondering, we don’t put crayons in our vagina. Not in my house anyway.

Some days I’m surprised by what I have to tell my kids and other days I’m so immune to the shit that comes out of my mouth it’s not even funny. I don’t remember being taught some of these lessons as a child, but I must have been…..right? I mean—-I’m not shoving crayons up my hoo-ha now that I’m an adult. I just assumed that some things went without saying. I’ve compiled a list of things I have had to say to my kids. Most of them seem like no brainers. Keep in mind that my kids are 7 months old, 20 months old, 11 years old and 14 years old, and all girls. You’d be surprised at which kid had to be told what, not as obvious as one might think. But I’ll leave that to you to draw your own conclusions.

“We don’t put crayons in our vagina.”

“Don’t touch your poop.”

“Don’t repeat that at school.”

“When I said don’t write on the walls……of course I meant the ceiling too.”

Seriously!!  Those are marks left behind from trying to erase all the little drawings and outlines of feet. Ugh!

Seriously!! Those are marks left behind from trying to erase all the little drawings and outlines of feet. Ugh!

“Mumma was just being silly when I said, “eat the baby”. We don’t really eat the baby.”

“Don’t touch the cat’s butt!”

“I don’t want to stare at your poop. Flush the toilet.”

“Did you remember to wipe?”

“We don’t leave used tampons on the sink! I don’t care if it’s wrapped in toilet paper.”

“No- you can’t play with a piece of raw chicken.”

“Don’t lick ______.” The cat, the table, my leg, my feet.

“Don’t smell ______.” The Garbage, the cat’s butt, my feet.

“Fingers out of ______.” Your diaper, your nose, my nose, your sisters nose, the outlet, the cat’s bowl, the cats puke, my face, my ear, my mouth, my hair, the peanut butter, the jelly.

“No- Silly—-you are not a “pot head”, you just have a pan on your head.”

“Oh. No-no. “Douche bag” is a bad word, not a real bag– don’t use that word.”

“Don’t smell that.”

“Don’t touch that.”

“Don’t eat that.”

“Don’t lick that.”

“What is that?”

 

 

“Type hard! Like you mean it.”

My “Princess” Washed a Pan Today. With Her Own Two Hands!

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My “Princess” is 11 years old and one would think that washing a pan at that age would be an easy task. Watching my daughter’s expression at the mere mention of having to actually wash a pan to make herself breakfast was funny enough, but then she went on to do what seemed like a dramatic reading of the bible.  I’m not sure, but there were a lot of Why me’s and Oh My God’s getting tossed around, followed by tears and praying for me to help.  I felt like I was in church, and it was just as painful to sit through.

I don’t ask a lot of my kids and maybe this is part of the problem.  No…..I’m sure this is part of the problem. I’m working on it.  That and some gene which clearly got passed down from my Ex-husband (her father).dig

Princess: “Can I make an egg for breakfast?”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Yes, don’t burn the house down.”

Princess: “The pans are in the sink.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Thanks for letting me know.”

Princess: “You need to wash them.”

Worst Mother Ever!: Brows raised with an expression that says, “I dare you to say that again.” “Excuse me?”

Princess: “What am I supposed to do?”

Worst Mother Ever!: “Seriously? You’re 11, you don’t know what you should do?”

Princess: “I’m not washing a pan.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “It will be hard to cook an egg without one.”

Now at this point in the conversation, eyes start rolling– her’s and mine.  While she opens the cabinet that we store the pans in and continues to pull out a pot, you know……the kind you boil water in…..for pasta and shit.

Princess: “I’ll just use this then.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “No.”

Princess: “Errrrrrr. Oh my god, you are being so mean.”

The pan gets put away and she turns the water on. I’m shocked because I figure at this point she’s just going to pour cereal instead, but she must really want this fucking egg.  Between huffs and puffs, sighs and errrrs.

Princess: “This is so gross, I don’t want to touch the sponge. This one has stuff on it. We need a new sponge. Why me?”

For the record, the sponge is about a week old. See above photo. I watch in pure amusement as my daughter grabs the sponge with her thumb and forefinger in a dainty effort to pick it up while grumbling the entire time. It’s hilarious. Cruel to watch? No.  I always help my kids do everything, and that’s the problem.

My kid has “Princess Syndrome” and believes that everything should be done for her.

I would have helped if the conversation didn’t start with an expectation that I would do it. My kid knows how to cook an egg.  But wash a dish? Well that’s just disgusting and servant’s work.

Princess: “I’m never washing dishes when I get older.”

Worst Mother Ever!: “I guess I won’t be eating at your place.”

Princess: “I’m going to make my husband wash them!”

Worst Mother Ever!: “I’m sure you’ll make someone very miserable.”

Princess: “Stop it!”

Worst Mother Ever!:  Calmly  “Stop acting like a brat, it’s a fucking pan.  Grab the sponge, put soap and water on it.  Stop touching it like you are going to catch the plague and scrub.” Yes, I swear.

Followed by a loud sigh, she washes the pan, with her own two hands! Un-fucking-believable! It’s a modern day miracle people.

Princess: “What do I do now?” Holding the wet pan.

Worst Mother Ever!: “If you were wet, what would you use to get the water off?”

Princess: “Errrrrrrrr” Reaches for towel.

At this point she carries on while still grunting, turns on the stove and gets the egg in the pan.  I leave the room, because I don’t want to go to jail. Moments later the sound of drawers opening and closing, getting louder and louder with each slam.

Princess: “I CAN’T FIND A SPATULA.”

Me to self: Deep breath, deep breath. Eye Roll.

Worst Mother Ever!: “Look in the sink.”

Princess: “No! No! I’m not washing that too!”

Worst Mother Ever!: ——–

A few more minutes pass and she enters the room with an egg sandwich. I never did hear her wash anything else or turn the water on.

Worst Mother Ever!: “Did you find a spatula?”

Princess: “No, I used a spoon.”

I decide to just let it go, what’s done is done.

Worst Mother Ever!: Being calm and compassionate, I explain why I didn’t help. “I know you are frustrated, I would have helped you if you just asked nicely, instead of expecting me to do it.”

Princess: Eye-roll “It’s your job to take care of me and do the dishes.”

I’m currently writing from jail. :/

“Type hard! Like you mean it!”

I’m not thankful for……

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In the spirit of Thanksgiving Day, I decided that instead of listing out all of the things I’m thankful for, I’m going to just list some of the shit I am not thankful for at the moment.

I truly am grateful for all of the good things in my life. I have a lot of good to celebrate, but I’m thankful on a daily basis for those things.  I’m always happy and appreciative of what I have going for me.  However, I feel like all I have seen throughout my other social media accounts today is the same ole, same ole, “I’m thankful for my family, blah, my life, blah, my blah, blah, blah.”  I guess I find it irritating as some of my friends bitch about everything, everyday.  They actually needed a holiday to be grateful for the good in their lives.   Yes, I’m thankful for my family too, and my kids, health, and for not being homeless, etc, etc. dot, dot, dot. I’m always thankful, so I think it only makes sense for me to use this day to point out some of the things I’m not thankful for.

I’m not thankful for how my younger two kids can’t seem to nap at the same fucking time.

I’m not thankful that my 11 year old seems to cry at the drop of a hat now that she is going through puberty.

I’m not thankful that the only way to have sex some days is by pretending that I need my husbands help in the basement, so the kids don’t figure it out.

I’m not thankful for how incredibly dusty my house is right now.

I’m not thankful for having a family of six and both cars only being 5 passenger.

I’m not thankful for the lack of time I get to myself most days.

I’m not thankful for never having enough time to blog, or sleep, or work, or slack off.

I’m not thankful that my “real work” is so behind.

I’m not thankful that this year flew by.

I’m not thankful for blowing my diet today. ( And for the last 4 weeks!)

I’m not thankful for the stupid tattoos I got between the ages of 16 and 17. (This is why 18 is the required age I guess.)

I’m not thankful that this is the last year I will be in my 30’s.

I’m not thankful that it took me so long to find the love of my life.

I’m not thankful for letting some of the little things get to me.

I’m not thankful for good things happening to shitty people. (This bothers me the most.)

I’m not thankful for turning what I thought would be a funny post into a bitchy rant.

I guess I should stop here then.

Back to being thankful.

Thanks for reading.

“Type hard. Like you mean it!”

What’s in a word?

It’s hard to write erotic stories and poems when you have children.  Mostly because they seem to ruin certain words and phrases that you would typically use for erotic writings.  Some phrases I try not to say to my kids anymore, because when I do, I feel so wrong.

-You are such a naughty girl!

-Bad girl!

-Don’t be so fresh!

-Blow on it.

-Lick it clean.

-Want me to spank you?

-Why is that so hard?

-Give it to her!

-Pet the kitty.

-Come.

-Let me kiss it.

-Does that feel good?

-Let me smell it

(no, I’m kidding about that last one,

you don’t want to ‘smell’ anything in erotica

unless it’s like candles or something good)

 

That’s just to name a few.

 

“Type hard! Like you mean it!”

Box full of nuts

nuts in box

Nothing is clean anymore, or maybe my mind is just that dirty that it can only see the ‘dirty’ in other things.

I read a book to my daughter today at the doctors office, that picture is from one of the pages.

First of all, I just want to point out that I have moments that I’m a good mom and I will do stuff like read to them from time to time.

Now that I got that out of the way.

I couldn’t make it through the story without laughing.  It’s no wonder we are all pigs as adults.  It starts out so innocent, a book about the letter ‘n’ (must mean nympho). 

Then next thing you know she’s stuffing nuts in her box, not just some– but all of them, what a greedy girl.

“Type hard! Like you mean it!”