Life, Love

Pie, Pussy, and Rascal Flatts

I don’t make apologies for being me. Once upon a time in my life I did. I attempted to conform to an idea, a perception of who I should be. That’s bullshit. I won’t apologize for my flaws either. And I am very flawed.

I’m the take it or leave it sort. I’m a hypocrite. On occasion I will even lie. I’ve probably sinned 12 times already this morning. My kids are eating processed crap and watching the television. I have a sink full of dishes and laundry on the floor. I don’t tell my mother I love her enough. I don’t tell my sister I love her enough. I haven’t kissed my husband in days. But I have copped a feel or two.

Sometimes I laugh at things I shouldn’t. Sometimes I fail to cry when I should. I like to buy things, anything really. I dress like a stripper. I like strippers. They deserve more respect. I have an unnatural love for lemon meringue pie. I pee with the door open. But I won’t fart in front of my husband. I like tits. I wanted tits. I bought tits. I like the sound of my own voice.

I hold grudges. I think letting things go is hippy bullshit. Being pissed off suits me. I don’t like dogs or cats. I try to convince myself I do. They are much cuter from a distance or on pants. Speaking of animals I want Sarah McClachlan to fall off the face of the earth. I make little lists in my head of people I wish I could send hate mail to. But that would require an effort and stamps. I listen to bad country music no really bad like Rascal Flatts bad. I also have J. Lo on my iPod.

I tend to not follow through. I am perpetually late. I blame my children but generally it is because I hit snooze 10 times. I forget things that don’t pertain to me. I can’t take anyone with an infinity symbol tattoo seriously and I have a vagina tattooed on my arm. I use bad language. Really bad language all of the time. I’m too strict and at times not strict enough. I think you suck. But I still like you. Well not all of you. Some of you are on my hate mail lists.

I want you to stop making apologies. I want you to stop beating yourself up. Guilt is bullshit. Sure you can’t right all wrongs. You get to just live with them. It is how you live with them that matters. Stop being a pussy. Just be you. It will be okay. Or it won’t. But at least you had some balls. And not the saggy kind but the firm proud I’m about to bust a nut kind. I’m not sure where I’m going with that. I did mention I was vulgar right?

Cat pants ftw -Samantha Osborn

cosmetic surgery

Buying Happiness

If you happen to follow me on Facebook or Instagram you already know I am having breast augmentation surgery. In 3 days actually. Now I am sure everyone at this point is thinking shut up about your boobs already. But I’m mega stoked so you get to hear about it more. Yay you. Okay so I will be doing a video journal and will be updating my blog. You can watch the video here….

I just suggest subscribing to the page, oh and following on Facebook

Wish me luck and perky boobies!

Blogging, Life, Parenting

Faking it

Pounding away at the keys but nothing is coming. My thoughts are sporadic or jumbled or jumbled and sporadic. I’m going through a dry spell. I hate dry spells. Distractions every where. Inability to focus on one thing. I’d claim some sort of mental disorder but it would be a lie. Unless laziness and apathy count as a disease. I’m missing passion for words. I usually have it in spades. But it all feels pointless. I’m out of jokes.

My oldest woman child has an inability to grasp common courtesy. And apparently the talk button on her phone. She can work it well enough when she needs something like eyeliner or money. I find her excuses tiresome and lacking zeal. At least attempt a good lie. Have some cleverness. I’m assuming she just thinks I am dumb. Or she suffers from her mother’s laziness and apathy. The other woman child is passionate. I wouldn’t describe her as clever but she at least puts on a good show.

I’m trying to figure out how one survives the coming of age years. And makes it out sane. Wine isn’t helping. I think I need friends. But I have an impossible standard to adhere to. You can’t be a twat. It makes most friendships short lived. Who am I kidding I can’t maintain a friendship. I can’t even leave my home due to rashes, coughs, and other various plagues. And the only kind of people that will walk into a lion’s den are usually insane or on drugs. I have enough insanity in my life.

6 kids. Mundane is not the word to describe my days. It is full of excitement. And by excitement I mean torture. Specifically mine. I think I may be dead and this is hell. Okay fine I am exaggerating. And I am sure somebody with a huge stick up their ass will think I am awful for describing life with my children as hell. But it is awful and wonderful and awful and wonderful… Which further convinces me I am in fact living in hell. I can change a poopy diaper and eat a sandwich at the same time, gross. I’m totally fine with not brushing my teeth, not wearing clean clothes, not eating a hot meal, not sleeping, and picking someone else’s nose. They just occasionally have to hug me. I may have been abducted. Help.

Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. I can’t even muster up some fake excitement. I’ll be lucky to get a moment alone with my husband. So it is basically just like everyday but with red and pink hearts vomiting all over the place. I’m having an Eeyore moment. Maybe Chicken Little, I think the sky is falling. Even cat leggings can’t knock me out of this funk.


I am in need of something. Maybe a good laugh or a good banging.



Life, Parenting

Can I get a little less pee in my life…..

My kids let me sleep in this morning. Wait scratch that, my kids let me sleep. No it was not a joyous occasion. I woke to screaming and pee. Lots of pee. In all honesty they may have tried to wake me but the sleep deprivation was at an all time high.

I’m struggling with this parenting thing.

Did you hear about that lady who just dropped her six kids off in the woods. Just left them. Apparently she tried to trade them on Craigslist first for a trampoline. I mean who even has six kids? She must be crazy. Some people are just not meant to be parents. 

Yes I know I can’t just leave my kids some where. The shame of failure prevents me from doing so. Oh and my love for them. I was listening to some sort of sappy country song yesterday that proclaimed someday you will miss this. No I won’t miss days filled with nothing but screaming and pee. My brain will magically forget these days. They will become fuzzy memories. That’s how I ended up with six kids in the first place. Selective amnesia fueled by hormones.

I hear a lot of people say bad things about the Duggar’s and their parenting style. You know how their home appears to run like a well oiled machine. “Oh their poor kids, missing out on their childhood.” I snorted while I wrote that. I can’t get my older kids to lift a finger without a serious effort on my part. They would let the house burn down around them. Wait no they would attempt to save their iPhones, game systems, curling irons, shoes, etc. But not each other. They will also tell you how hard it is to be kid. “You just don’t understand Mom!” Yeah level 124 of Candy Crush is a lot like performing open heart surgery.

I read a blog the other day on how the writer believed three was the hardest number of children to parent. I had a good laugh with that one. That people with more children had an easier time. No we don’t. We have evolved in our parenting. We hear less, see less, and our reaction time is much slower. Or maybe I mean regressed. It is sink or swim in my household. But it took years to get here and obviously I am still not immune to my children’s shenanigans. Nor do I ever just get to ignore the piles of things. I don’t ever get to say screw it let’s just play all day like the memes suggest I do. Because that just means more piles and more piles of things. I have to carefully manage my time to get all the hugs in and dishes done.

Three kids, no not the hardest number. Honestly it is one. That is the hardest number. If you can survive one, you can survive two or ten. Going from zero to one is hard, scary, mind-blowing, insanity and add exhaustion. Two to six or ten is just exhausting. And you will never have enough money so that is a universal concern unless you are part of the 1%.

Most of what I say is tongue in cheek with a hint of truth. Actually days like today more truth less tongue in cheek but only because I smell faintly like toddler pee. I’ve had four cups of coffee so now I feel less defeated.

Did you hear about that mother of six who raised “happy” healthy children and kept a clean house. Yeah she had to do dishes like six times a day. Apparently someone always had a project due or needed help with math. I don’t even know how she managed to get every one dressed. She had to cook like a dozen eggs a day. Crazy. She must be a supermom!


Life, Love

Making The New Year My Bitch!

Resolutions you say, oh yeah I got me some. I mean have, I have me some. No proper grammar isn’t one. Just as I was saying that yes I actually speak while I type. It is annoying for those around me. I thought ugh some ass phat is going to scoff at my poor use of the English language. Better correct myself but leave it therefore I am still getting to say screw you grammar police. I got me some! I digress back to resolutions.

I don’t make resolutions but not because I am too cool or jaded by life to make them. Pure laziness on my part. But this year I have a couple.

1. I want to be a better Sister to those bound by friendship and blood, which leads me to number 2.

2. I’m going to Lodge if I have to duct tape some kids together to get there! Okay I will hire a sitter and heavily equip the place with nanny cams. FLT.

3. I want to love my husband every day like there may not be a tomorrow. I get caught up in the day to day crap that I occasionally forget that he means the world to me. Actually more cause I litter. I am a terrible person.

4. Less littering!

5. I’m going to hug my older kids on a regular basis even if I have to sit on them to comply. They are pretty squirmy. Good thing I am still faster and bigger than them. Hugs are happening.

And my final resolution is to be more of a dick. Yes you heard that right. I often let things go because I am polite. And I was raised to be some what passive or shall I say permissive. Phil Robertson would have approved, I would have made an excellent child bride to pluck ducks. Real agreeable up in here. Happy happy happy!

But over the last few years I have really found my voice. And with that I have come to the conclusion that the most deplorable thing I can do is to sit in silence while others around me do and say ignorant, bigoted, and hateful things. That by giving in to their reasoning and excuses makes me an asshole too. Say I say no more. I may call you out on it. You may think I am a dick. Hopefully a huge one!

Happy New Year! Now someone give me a recipe on how to make black-eyed peas actually edible!

funny, Parenting

Why my children would not survive an apocalypse of any kind

Morgan only has one shoe. She is unable to find her shoe because she is and I quote “a bad looker.”

This means foraging for food is not likely.

Morgan’s incessant questions would also put her at risk for abandonment! Seriously she is 8 and we are not past the why stage.

Their dependance on electronics would cause mental instability. Specifically August who this weekend without wifi was like a crackhead 48 hours into cold turkey. At one point she moaned “I need to check my Instagram, I need to see my likes!”

At 12:42 am when our wifi magically started working again she declared “I am not sleeping for the rest of the night!” 

At one point I am sure she stroked her iPod and called it my precious. This child would just let zombies eat her the moment she realized her iPod was rendered useless.

No concept of teamwork. Putting away a load of laundry is a catastrophic event in my household. Complete with crying, screaming, and accusations. They would rather sink the ship if that meant they actually had to work together to stay afloat.

They have no loyalty. Every small person for themselves! Which would be fine if I only had one child. That kind of cutthroat mentality quickly becomes a Lord of the Flies type scenario. On the plus side none of them would have any issue with eating the other. Hopefully they wait till death actually occurs first.

Ramsey would immediately fall and break her glasses, her toe, her arm, her leg. Something would break within the first hour of mayhem. She would most likely be left behind.

Which would be fine with her. Just leave her on a couch or a pallet of leaves. She can sleep till noon during Armageddon right?






Lovers Lament

I could hear my words, my tone. I knew you were overwhelmed. That you just needed my help. But I was consumed by my own exhaustion, agitation. I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to. I just wanted a moment.

Some days I watch life in slow motion. My life. I can see everything I am doing wrong or should be doing differently. But I have no power to stop it. I can see when I take you for granted. I can hear the words that sting.

I find myself day dreaming of easier less complicated days. Missing who we were. It is funny that the only other life I wish for is the one I had with you. I’ve been missing you. Missing your touch, your laugh, missing your hand in mine.

Man it can get hard at times. It can get mundane. Children, jobs, money, lack of it, can all be too real.

I don’t want to go back. I love this life we have.

I had a dream last night that I had lost you. Literally like a puppy. I was searching and searching. When I found you, you were aloof. You didn’t want me. I was desperate. I tried to cling to you. You were indifferent.

When I awoke you were heading out the door. I thought for a brief moment what if this is the last moment. Man that would suck. I was a jerk last night.

That Garth Brook’s song The Dance played in my head. “I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.” I correlate most of my moments with sad country songs from the 80′s and the 90′s. I can’t even pick a good decade to lament with.

What am I trying to say? Maybe I should use some cliches. I wouldn’t be me without you. You complete me. I can’t think of anymore. Kesha playing in the background is distracting me. “DJ turn it up”

How about honesty? I want you to be the person I am shitty with. The person that gets the ugly. I want you to be the person I wake up to after having my insides yanked out of me. I can’t imagine that person being anyone else. Actually when I was in what I thought were my last moments all I wanted was you. Just you. And when I realized I had made it all I wanted was you.

I forget that sometimes when I am elbow deep in crappy diapers and refereeing kids. I forget that sometimes when I am staring at stacks of bills and dirty dishes. How can I forget that?  How can I forget a force that literally moves me? That keeps me wading above the waters of life surrounding me. Drowning me. You keep me afloat.

I’m sorry I am an asshole. Thank you for loving me anyway.

Today I will shave my legs. That is the least I can do right?