Category Archives: life

November 1.

Posted on by

0

Ever wondered what a pissed off NASA Space Commander looks like?

This.

20141031_172123

Complete with black dress socks and no shoes. You don’t need shoes in space.

Last night Robbie and I emerged from our home dressed like real people and took the boys trick-or-treating. I don’t have any pictures from this experience because we, along with other parents and children, were crammed into a trailer wrapped in plastic sheeting and carted around the neighborhood. We bumped around and took Jell-o shots and I really don’t know how to explain what went down or why, so you’ll just have to accept what I’m telling you and know that it was awesome.

I saw a mom dressed like Wonder Woman running down the sidewalk, cape flying behind her, with a cup full of wine in her hand. She spilled nary a drop. It nearly brought me to tears, it was so beautiful.

Maverick gave all of his candy to a kid who didn’t have as much.

We ran into a READER OF THIS BLOG!!! Hi, Courtney Vidrine! She said she was going to buy the book! And then we hugged.

I now welcome November with open arms.

Not Bringing Sexy Back.

Posted on by

2

Being a stay-at-home mom is slowly but surely turning me into a socially awkward person. Oh, you don’t know what I mean? Let me show you.
10675771_10154748963745508_1850728564886484847_n

Robbie and I went tailgating at an LSU game a few weeks ago. Yes, that is a stripper pole. Don’t you love how I’m gripping it for dear life? I could never, EVER be any kind of exotic dancer and the reasons are too numerous to list here … but I think you can see why.

Today I was talking about how I can’t seem to move my body in the snakelike motion that some women in my Zumba class do. I can’t do a body roll. I can’t shake my upper body. I can’t … shimmy. I’m basically an uptight white girl, but I keep going to Zumba because it’s fun. My friend Shannon shrugged and said, “It’s all about what high school you went to. That’s where you learn.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. My high school didn’t allow dancing — like, at all. Also on the list of forbidden things: unnatural-looking nail polish, caffeinated beverages, hand-holding with the opposite sex, and good music.

I am so screwed.

Pirates.

Posted on by

0

In honor of National Talk Like A Pirate Day, I present to you … a picture of my daughter that she will one day hate. But she looks SO MUCH LIKE A PIRATE.

20140828_161051

I like to fish, I like to fight
I like to stay up half the night
When I say “starboard” ye go right!
Me ma, she says, “Ye look a fright!”

– from “A Children’s Pirate Shanty” (find the rest here!)

Biscuits & Gravy.

Posted on by

2

I spend a lot of time writing about how my kids are driving me to drink.

I have blogged for almost 5 years about all the ways motherhood stresses me out. I’ve talked about the things my children have broken, peed on, or otherwise damaged. I’ve lost kids, locked kids in vehicles and houses, and made a fool of myself at drive thru windows. What makes it all so comical is that I really do consider myself to be a relatively capable and intelligent human being. When I got married in 2005, I was a woman who was always put together, knew what day it was and how much money was in her bank account. That person read magazines and newspapers and knew what was happening in the world. I was going to be somebody. I had plans.

I am now none of those things and I know none of those things. With age, I have realized I AM someone right in this moment. There is no more aspiring to become someone. I made three someones, and my plans now consist of getting those people to adulthood in one piece.

I don’t know the date. I don’t know which bills are due when. I don’t know when I last mopped. I don’t know where several important documents are located, or where the slips are that I signed for Maverick’s school. We do not have a family dentist and that FALLS ON ME. The burden of our oral health is resting on my shoulders. It feels heavy.

Women carry an unbelievable load that often is not recognized or applauded, because no one can see it. We carry emotions and feelings and worries and love. We carry plans, aspirations and schedules and love. We carry lists that are written on a million scraps of paper and love. We carry every sad look from our children, every wrong word spoken in haste, every runny nose and strange-looking dirty diaper and nuance that tells us something might be wrong, and love. We notice smells and changes in behavior before anyone else. We see when things are wrong and when things are right, and we know when the toilet is really, truly, absolutely clean … because we love.

Sometimes that invisible load is just so. damn. heavy. I get bitter and resentful and I take it out on my husband and my children, just because they’re there AND THEY WANT SOMETHING. I feel unhappy and alone and certain I’m the only person ever who has to cart around this kind of load. Does any of this sound familiar?

Today I remembered that as much as my children, with their chaos and incessant demands, add to my load … they can also lessen it if I let them. Because children — messy, sticky, loud children — emote joy over things like tall bar stools with seats that spin. They press their faces to glass cases and peer inside at all the different kinds of cake balls like it is the MOST AMAZING THING EVER.

They touch everything. Because they must.

They wake up excited to see what they new day has in store for them, and at night after they have run us ragged, they snuggle down deep in their beds and whisper “I love you, Mommy.” Children love life, and they breathed life into what would have been my very boring existence of knowing the exact date and time.

10599319_10154773939935508_2686149372925780916_n

If you’ve ever wondered why people have children, this is why. If you’ve ever wondered why Robbie and I have three of them … well, there you go. They give us as much as they take and more, in their weird, loud way, and I love them more than biscuits and gravy.

News!

Posted on by

1

I have NEWS!

Last month I was invited by Jill Smokler of Scary Mommy to contribute to an ebook she is putting together titled “The Scary Mommy Guide to Surviving The Holidays.” This is part of the 2014 Scary Mommy Thanksgiving Project, which you can read about here. It’s still unclear if the book will be for sale and the proceeds will help feed families on Thanksgiving, or if she will give it to the donors as a thank you gift, but either way I’m going to be part of it.

Right after I screamed WHAT?!?!?!?!? YES!!!!  after reading the email and firing off a reply, my life seemed to go into overdrive and a bunch of major things happened that affected my ability to write. The stress of the approaching deadline (this Monday) and the knowledge that God-knows-who is going to read this ebook was almost too much for me … I was waking up at 4:00 a.m. thinking panicky thoughts with a constant feeling of impending doom and dread that I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. But with the support of my husband and friends, and the aid of a Bota Box, I think that I did. And now that it’s written, all I feel is excitement that I will be published, and all my hard work is in support of a fantastic cause.

Scary Mommy is totally irreverent, but so is motherhood. This gig is one part Holy Mother Mary, and one part Linda Blair (of The Exorcist). In my real life, I’m very calm and kind and I smile a lot. But the Linda Blair part of me just wants to yell “FUCK” about 10 times a day, like when my kids have food fights or when Asher is having a complete meltdown because he can’t make the banana he broke in half stick back together.

And that is where Scary Mommy comes in.

20140911_151943

(Did you miss my Scary Mommy piece? You can find it here!)

Just Do What You Need To Do.

Posted on by

4

Do we look like normal, functional people? 

Photo credit: Leigh Anne Wilbanks

Like when I see a picture of myself, or my kids, we look totally NOT like we just made a scene in our local Rite Aid. 

After the past few weeks I’ve had, I really don’t think I’ll judge another mom ever again. We’re all just trying to do the best we can, I’ve decided. Usually when I tell stories of public embarrassment it’s because of something one of my kids did or said. Today, I was the one who lost my crap. I was the one who cried in front of total strangers and I was the one who left a trail of items all the way out the door of the drugstore, snatching them from children’s hands and literally tossing them to the floor as we made our way out.

I’d like to forget today ever happened, because wow, but I’m writing about it so I never forget. When things are somewhat manageable, and I don’t have to struggle quite as much to keep it together, I forget what it’s like. This. The impossible task of motherhood when it’s so hard that I’d quit if I could but I can’t because you don’t get to do that when you’re a mother. Even if you’re a horrible mother and you think that you can quit or leave, you can’t. Not really. YOU ARE ALWAYS STILL A MOTHER.

So on days like today, when I feel like I have entirely too many kids and I can’t possibly meet their needs, let alone my own, and my scalp starts itching from stress and I don’t eat real meals for sometimes five days or more in a row … and then I have to run an errand … I am humbled. The people who saw me today totally judged me and I don’t blame them. I would have too. But I hope that the experience stays with me for awhile so I can offer some grace to another struggling mom. 

The experience of parenting three kids is so intense, and adding in a move or illness just sends us spiraling into Crazy Town. I completely stop cooking, we’re never clothed properly, we don’t have food in the house — things unravel quickly. I find myself shouting to my husband, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO FEED THEM!” as I hand a kid an entire box of cereal to eat with his bare hands. Some women say they go days without showering or washing their hair, but I’m too vain for that. I’ll shower and forgo other important things, like bill-paying and family nutrition.

Which reminds me — one of the things I threw on the floor on our way out was vitamins. 

The next time I’m in a store and I see a woman laden with child(ren) really, truly, struggling not to cry or scream or freaking tear into the biggest bag of peanut M&M’s she can find and eat them right there in the aisle and throw the paper on the floor because she is just so DONE … I’m going to tell her I’ve been there and she should just do whatever she needs to do. That’s my new mantra: Just Do What You Need To Do.

No judgement here. I’ll pick up your wrappers. You eat that candy, girl. Better to do that than to eat your young.

Where The Hell Is My Maidservant?!

Posted on by

0

Excuse me, I do NOT hold my own beverages … 

Where the hell is my maidservant?!


I’m here. The maidservant is here. I’ve not yet recovered from the harrowing experience of moving with small children … but I’m here, I once again have the internet, and currently no one is screaming.

We live in a much larger house now, which isn’t saying a lot because we used to live in a shoebox. But this house is bigger and quirky with a lot of odd spaces where my children can hide and I truly can’t find them. I have lost one or two of them in here several times already. I consider this a blessing, I don’t question it, and I don’t spend a ton of time looking for them honestly. Their desire to hide quietly from me is a precious gift. So thank you. I’ll take it.

I’m too busy holding Pepper’s drinks to do much else, anyway.
 

Valentine’s Day 2014.

Posted on by

2

It’s Valentine’s Day and I have completely dropped the ball.  I dissuaded my guilt by announcing that I’ll make it up to them on another holiday. They all just shrugged and said “Ok” except for the baby, who blinked her wide eyes at me.

It’s better for them that the bar is set low, anyway. Then no one is ever disappointed, and when I do get it together and do something fun everyone is pleasantly surprised. Our romantic plans for tonight include watching the season premiere of House of Cards on Netflix and drinking whiskey and Cokes.

Now then. On to butts.

This week I found myself in a heated discussion over whether or not Kim Kardashian’s butt is real or fake and before I knew what was happening I was stomping into my bathroom to take a picture of my own so I could SHOW THEM that it’s not natural to have an ass that big and that smooth-looking with arms and legs as thin as hers. As the owner of a large ass, I know what I’m talking about. Maybe she hasn’t had butt implants per se, but she’s had the dimples sucked out at the very least. Something has been done. I am not fooled.

Happy Valentine’s Day!


Why I Have A Hard Heart

Posted on by

3

It has come to my attention that I have a hard heart. I knew it was probably a few sizes too small, but I was thinking that having children had maybe softened me some. 

It hasn’t.

In fact, I think the act of pushing a child out of my vagina on three separate occasions has actually hardened me more, like some kind of prairie-living, butter-churning, cow hand’s wife from the 1800’s. They were tough people. Maybe that’s when I should have been born — in prairie times. Although, if that was the case, I would be the town’s token blind lady. If I don’t have my contacts in, someone literally has to take me by the hand and lead me from room to room.

I would not enjoy being the town’s token blind lady; I’m much too vain for that. I guess it’s for the best that I was born in 1979 instead of 1879, but I bet I could churn the hell out of some butter.

Anyway, because of my hard heart, when someone has a scrape or a hangover or the wrong flavor of Pop Tarts, I expect them to suck it up because, you see, I PUSHED THREE BABIES OUT OF MY VAGINA. Clearly you are not in that much pain, which means you are not near death, which means there is no need to panic.

After a few separate occurrences happened in a short span of time which brought my hard heart front and center, I started wondering what on Earth could have caused me to be so unfeeling when it comes to certain things. I have girlfriends who cry over pictures of animals. Why don’t I cry over pictures of animals?! When I see pictures of animals, I actually shudder a little.

When my husband is sick, I put him in a room by himself and shut the door. My eldest child has had regular allergy shots for months and months. I don’t understand why he still cries and throws a fit. It’s been months. You know you’re not going to die. I don’t understand. Clearly, I would make a TERRIBLE NURSE. 

I started thinking about what might have hardened me at a young age, and all I could come up with was the time when I was about 4 or 5 years old and a goose started chasing me when I was outside with my dad. I don’t think he meant to, but my daddy reached out and slapped that goose dead. Kilt it dead right in front of me.

I don’t talk about my dad much on social media because my parents are very private and I think the idea of the internet freaks them out big time, but I have to say … my daddy slapping a goose dead when it was after me taught me something very important: if you hit right, you’ll only have to hit once.

So, while I don’t have to churn butter or chop the heads off chickens before sunrise, I do have to tone down my demeanor so I can at least feign concern for these softies … I GUESS.

The Gravity Machine.

Posted on by

0

Sometimes I get myself roped into things by saying “yes” when I should probably ask more questions. Today was an example of that.

My gym just got a bunch of “Gravity” machines. If you are unfamiliar, and I bet that you are, this is what they look like:

I noticed them, but didn’t pay much attention other than thinking to myself that they looked not fun. There are signs on each one saying PLEASE DON’T USE WITHOUT PROPER INSTRUCTION so that gave me a good reason to avoid them. In fact, I have been avoiding all things related to weight-bearing exercise for well over a year. I’ve gotten into a good cardio routine and have been feeling like I could add something else in, but was putting it off because I have kids to wrangle and not being able to pick one of them up due to muscle soreness isn’t really an option. Except now I seem to have gotten myself into that exact situation.

Anyway, the nice people at the gym asked if I would be interested in signing up for a 4-week course to learn how to use the Gravity machines and for some reason I said “Yes!” instead of, “What EXACTLY is going to happen to me?” Had I the foresight to ask this question, they could have said “You’re going to want to die,” and I could have politely declined. But since I didn’t ask first … now I am $20 poorer and committed to three more sessions of hell.

I went on an internet search for pictures to show what I did, and apparently no one but me looks miserable whilst Gravity machining. See how the girl below is smiling? She’s such a liar. At this point in my workout I wanted to scream “I JUST HAD MY THIRD BABY!!!” at the top of my lungs so no one would judge me when I puked.
 

(source)


I’m 12 pounds away from pre-pregnancy weight and like a gazillion pounds away from where I would like to be, so if this damn machine is what will get me to the next level, then so be it. Now, please excuse me while I go lie down.