Why couldn’t we look happy, just once?

I went to bed last night instead of staying up. I was exhausted and I figured… if I went to bed early, I could arise early with the Munson munchkin (the baby) and we could play on the computer early in the wee hours before the savages awoke.

Well, me and Munson munchkin (the baby), awoke this morning. Early. And we came out here to watch some news and drink milkies. And for mommy to have a cup of coffee. And for mommy to change diaper and to change her own diaper because she is bleeding like a fucking stuck pig ( is it because I got my tubes tied? WHAT THE FUCK?). And then, mommy cleaned the turtle tank. And then mommy cleaned some more shit. And then by the time mommy decided to sit down and play her new games that daddy bought her (SimsCity 3000, SimsGolf, SimsAmusementpark and SimsRollerCoaster) …then…

THEN- THE OTHERS WOKE.

Why?
Why do they crowd me?
Besides the fact that it is winter and they have cabin fever.
and are small.
and the fact they need a mother.

WHY COULDN’T THEY JUST STAY ASLEEP ONE FUCKING HOUR MORE?

I can never play on the internet or have an actual FUN diversion anymore because I have three kids.
Because I loved sex so much that I thought it was sexy to have three kids.

I want The Girl to go back to school. NOW. I don’t care about walking in ten feet of snow to get her there, I JUST WANT HER TO GO BACK.

I also want The Boy to go TO school. He needs stimulation in the form of something other than television. He is way too whiney and I often wonder if he needs either medication or just to go to school. He may need both, I don’t care, I just want him to stop WHINING.

I don’t care about taking care of The baby. The baby is easy. He coos and smiles and poops and pees and drinks milk. So what. I can deal with him.

I have come to the conclusion recently, that I love babies. I looove looove loooooooove babies. It’s when they grow up and can talk and bicker and whine and be loud and be bored and stuff… that I don’t like them.

Can I trade my kids in?
No, seriously.
What about that pony I talked about in earlier entries?

To tell you guys about my special Christmas present. I remebered while reading Love Spells about my own special gift.

For Christmas, after everyone opened up their presents, I went to the bathroom… and I got my period.

MERRRYYY RED BLOODY FUCKING CHRISTMAS.

Ohhhhh damn. I don’t have cool gallery pics.
Like on Dooce and on Autumn’s blogs. I can’t do that.

So.. plis! Please… deal with the overload of pictures.

Sorry Trini. I was trying to do it for you and your slow ass connection over there so you wouldn’t beat me senselessly.

I will be gentle. I will post only a few things today and then tomorrow.

Notice I said TRY.

My Pretty snow covered yard…

Christmas Tree before the savages awake:

Look! Santa Came!

Everyone enjoying the presents

Except Munson Baby…

like I said, after 15 minutes he gets pissy.

Oh! Wait! He likey!

My husband’s imitation of John Mayer. Excuse the bags of RAPING paper in the foreground.


He will kill me when he sees I have this online. Oh well. SORRY! He stuck his lips way out kinda like Mick Jaggerish, to pretend he was Johnny Boy. He is so mean. He kept screaming “Neee ON! NEEEON!” and strumming The Girl’s guitar violently, before she grabbed it from him.

Taking requests…

Ok, I know that one…

She doesn’t know …

John Mayer is her real father. That is where she gets the guitar genes from. And the big dark circles she inherits from her mother, she is so lucky. Poor kid.

Touching Sissy’s Face…

he is so cool.

Boots. Shorts. Spidey powers.

My son. In shorts. And Spidey boots. Exhibiting his Spidey Powers.

Tokyo A Go-Go…

To all and to all a …
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Happy Fat baby with Santa Hat On!

This picture is enhanced with PSP 7… please do not think I put my naked baby against a cold window.

I am waiting… waiting to WRAP PRESENTS. Yep, my presents are still stashed in my closet waiting, naked, to be wrapped.
Or as hubby says “to be wraped.” LMFAO!

Funny story on the wraping. He comes home the other day and goes “I got some … ” looks around and sees The Girl standing in the hallway and goes ” I got some W-R-A-P-I-N-G paper. It was on sale.” I stand there and try to decipher what the fuck he spelled.

I look over, and The Girl is also trying to decipher… being she can now spell. Duh.

Anyhow, I go “raping? raping? who is raping on sale?” He gives me this look. He says the sentence over in my ear. I start laughing. I go ” Its P-P-ING! not one P!” he goes “No, it’s not.” And the Class Spelling Bee Champion of 1983 comes out in me. “UM YEA… IT IS!” and so we bet 20 bucks on it.

He owes me 20 bucks. I should make him do other things instead.

So back to the naked presents. Wanna know what we got the kids?

The Girl:
Portable CD player (she is six ya know, she wants cool stuff… rolls eyes)
Raven CD… (remember the annoying little girl from the Cosby show? Yea her, with the funny eyebrows? She is now on Disney, and made me run rampant all over gods fucking creation to find her new CD.)
That’s so Raven CD (because I couldn’t find the above CD, I opted for the show’s CD and now The Girl gets two CD’s.)
Clothes
Underwear
2 Bratz Dollz I kinda loathe these things, but they are the “new Barbie”. Whatever. Barbie is Barbie, these are hood rats with lots of gloss on their huge lips, and I hate them. But The girl loves them. I compromise. I buy her the ones that have CLOTHING on and not the ones that look like they belong on the street corner.
Bratz Tokyo-a-GoGo Sushi Lounge Bratz go on trips to Tokyo, ya know. Whats wrong with you? And they eat Sushi too. Sheesh! Don’t you know anything?
Psychedelic Child Guitar Some little acoustic guitar, with cool colors. To bring out the music in her. I hope she plays John Mayer for mommy. I always wanted an acoustic guitar. I thinK I am gonna end up playing with this shit more than her. It’s a real one, just for smaller hands.
Sam and the Owl book good old book I loved as a kid.
Princess Bride DVD
The Princess Diaries DVD two pack set
I think that’s it. I think there’s a few odds and ends in the closet I can’t remember.

The Boy:
Warning: he is obsessed with Spiderman… so there will be lots of it.
Spiderman spy set
Spiderman web shooter
Spiderman underwear
Spiderman DVD set of 1960’s cartoons… the entire series
Various other SPIDER MAN SHIT I CAN’T REMEMBER…. blame the husband. He genetically predisposed some Spiderman shit on The Boy and therefor he is OBSESSED. He sometimes makes us call him SPIDEY.
Sit and Spin light up the good old sit and spin, with lights. WEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
A drum set yes we are retarded. It was cheap.
Some other shit I can’t remember… movies and whatnot, and the Book “David had a bad day”.
Clothes

The Baby:

Boppy Pillow Extraordinaire! a bean shaped pillow with doodads hanging from the thing on top of it.

So he can sit in it and get pissy after ten minutes.
And from the boppy I will transport him to the …

Fisher Price all in one baby to toddler seat! a cool chair that I got The Boy when he was a baby, and he used it until he broke it two months ago. It turns from a small baby seat with doodads that dangle and a vibration to a toddler rocking chair. If you have a baby, I highly recommend this.

And when he gets pissy in this I shall transport him to…

Some thing I found at TJ Maxx with baby lights and stuff… you put them on their belly and they set off these lights that they can oogle at.

Then he will get pissy and I can put him in his crib and he can go to sleep.

Clothes
And some other baby odds and ends… He is small he doesn’t know we don’t have to spend so much on him. I learned this after THREE kids. I wish I woulda been smarter before.

Off I go.
To clothe and wrape naked presents.

I just had a meltdown.

In the middle of the kitchen.

With a naked boy running around me, a freaked out hairless assed cat under the table hissing, and a girl with a christmas dress and combat boots on screaming something about juice in her hair. Also, a baby screaming in the background.

My husband? He passed the kitchen, saw me there, and scooped me up. I almost threw a pan at him about ten minutes earlier.

Now he scoops me up and hugs me as I sob.
I am losing it.

My kids, they are rampant. They have cabin fever. My son just pissed all over the house, but won’t piss in the toilet. My daughter is being as demonic as Chucky, and the baby is sick.

Also, my cat, is losing the hair on her ass. She is biting it off. People say they think she has a nervous condition.

I think she is losing her fucking mind just like I am.

She has been my pet before I had kids. She was my baby before babies. I got her almost 8 years ago. She has seen me go through all three pregnancies and kids, and now, she is losing her hair and mind. All because her master is losing her own mind and has had way too many kids than either of us could handle. So she is ripping her hair out. Literally.

It snowed so much. Over a foot. That the trip to the mall we planned with Santa and Build-A-Bear is cancelled. The roads are icy and they have travelers advisorys. We have not had it snow this bad in over 5 years. We are actually snowed in. It took hubby over 2 hours to shovel the driveway.

I was gonna post a bunch of pics, but I don’t feel good. I need a nap.

My kids fell asleep under the christmas tree.

In their sleeping bags.

Am I being neglectful by leaving them there?

Oh well, if I am. All I know, is I am tired and the baby is back to sleep, and i will leave them there. They probably like it there. I hope they do, ’cause my ass ain’t about to wake them and make them go to their beds.

We all have colds again.
All five of us. Weee fucking yeee.

I have a mucous filled nostril, the baby has two of them, and the other two kids hack a little bit. I am beginning to think we have black mold hiding in the creaks and crevices of this house.

I made hubby and the neighbor change the furnace filter, after we found out from Potty McPothead that the people who lived here NEVER changed it EVER in the FIVE YEARS THEY LIVED HERE. Fucking Hilljack tard people.

And also, the landlord is supposed to do it, but the landlord is also supposed to do a lot of things that he doesn’t do, so the Hubs and Potty McPothead went to the hardware store and bought some for ours and Potty’s. Potty says he changes his each year. I guess we reminded him.

And if we continue to get sick? I will make Asshole O’bunghole the landlord, make someone clean out the vents and fucking SEARCH for black mold. Cause that shit scares me, and I better not be having sick kids because of it. Fucking cock sucker people.

I hate people. I really do.

I have pictures of the hair.

I need to get another page for gallery like pics, because I hate posting them on here, and them being so big and annoying. Give me time, I am retarded with things like this.

It snowed here, and is continuing to snow. THANK GOD no school this week. I don’t know if you know this, but I have to walk Mya to school, so it sucks major ass hair when it’s nasty out.

We will have a white Christmas. Or at least a grey one, because a week from now it will all be dirty snow. Dirty snow is so ugly. Whore snow. That’s what I call it. I like the virgin snow. Who doesn’t!?

Here are the pics…

Me in my full blown dorkishness.

I think I am looking all cute and coy and whatnot… then I saw the baby’s spitup stain. How fucking cute am I? Fucking nerd.

But really, HOW CUTE IS SHE?!
I forgot to add, I cut all her hair off. Well, not me, but some weird mechanical bitch at MasterCuts in the mall.
She was all “WHAT LENGTH WOULD YOU LIKE HER HAIR? IS THIS OK?” you have to say it like a robot.
Then I paid her and she was all “THANK YOU- FOR COMING TO MASTERCUTS- PLEASE COME AGAIN.” Fucking I-robot bitch. I told the robot twat to give my kid LAYERS… DO YOU SEE LAYERS?

That’s what I get for not taking her to “the fancy place” as she calls my salon. Next time she gets treated to “the fancy place”, because Mastercuts sucks ass. At least she doesn’t look like a little hilljack child.

Mya: “Smile mom”…
Me: “Ok… tee heee! weeeeeeeeee!”

normal pose. we look purty and un-hilljack like.

we got the boy some new snow pants and a new coat. I made him pose like Randy from A Christmas Story. I also made him say “I can’t put my arrrrmmmmmsss down!”

Merry Christmas. I want some Christmas Duck. Damned Bumpus Dogs.

I have done lots and lots of shit this weekend. Mostly getting the last of the kids presents and whatnot. Eating steak with Keith, and then fighting with him all within the same night. Not a serious fight, more of a disagreement.

About what? Who knows. I was bloated from steak and done with shopping and tired. So I don’t remember.

Speaking of bloated. I am very much so, and distustingly BLOATED LIKE A MOTHER FUCKER. I think I am gonna get my rag or something, or I am getting fat again.

I got my haircut. Its purty. Me like it. It make me look human.

I will post pics of it tomorrow, ’cause in case you didn’t realize, it’s 3 am. And also… I am going to get my bowels ripped out by Satan himself, because I drank some wine with my little sister in law, who is slightly underage, and I will go to jail now.
I used to buy her Barbies. Now I buy her wine. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Hey, it’s yuletidey and shit, she babysat for me, and I offered her a glass or two. At least it wasn’t POT.

OH!!! And also…Me feels important!

I must add that I now feel like I am sooo fucking worthy. Worthy because Autumn from Autumnville has not only commented on my blog, but has added me to the list of blogs that she reads.

I used to think I was so uncool and dorklike. I still think I am, but at least cool people read about my dorkishness.

Her and a few other very cool bloggers read me. OH! And also Manolo! I feel so fucking worthy I could cum in my brand new Delta Burke fat girl lace boy shorts I got from TJ Maxx for 2.99 last night!

Also, Autumn made references to under booblings, and I thought I was the only one that looked at those.

I have bad habits.

One is I stay up real late, and do stupid shit instead of sleeping like I should. The baby is now sleeping almost through the night, with one feeding in exception.

And well, I should be sleeping, right?
Wrong.

I blog, and play with my blog and I stay up and talk with friends, and do things, because I make myself believe, that I need to do these things, or else I will get PPD and go crazy.

Hmmm. Sounds good enough for me.

Then I am tired, but that’s what vitamins and coffee are for. Right? I guess.

One bad habit I used to have, is I smoked. I smoked for 13 years. 30-13=17. Uh huh. Long time. But I quit when Ryan was born. Because hubs said we should. Because we were killing ourselves and our wallet.

So we did. He did first, then I got pneumonia and then I did. Because I got pneumonia, and it hurt. And I said “if it hurts like this now, its gonna hurt real bad when I get cancer or emphesyma or some shit.” So I quit too.

We were doing well.

Now he is smoking cigars.

Um, babe, WHATS THE FUCKING POINT? MAN!?

He is also an unbearable… how can I put this lightly, ASSHOLE. He is so mean and freakish it’s insane. ALL AFTER THE 2 MONTH MARK, PEOPLE. WTF?

I like eating. I like giving … um… well you know… I like blowing things on my husband, and so, when I feel the need to get some hand to mouth action, I either pop in a bunch of chips or grapes, or I get real sexylike and I act naughty.

He on the other hand, well, if he won’t eat, he can’t give blow jobs, so I guess he will just use cigars.

WRONG.

I feel this is gonna be a long assed haul.

The bummer entry…
That last entry was probably one that I should have kept to myself. But it was bugging me.
I got it off my chest and I feel better.

Things like that get to me from time to time. I guess her going to the store I had been in before and buying her one month old some formula and getting killed because of being in the wrong place at the wrong time got to me. It was formula by the way, not a gallon of milk like they mistakingly said. Her mother was interviewed and said it was baby formula. For her one month old.

There is a bank fund set up for her babies. I might send them twenty bucks. I actually WILL send it to them.

Enough. I can’t talk about this anymore.

____________________________________________________

Baffled Pot Liquor…

I am sitting here baffled. Baffled by my fucking pot head neighbors.
Actually, baffled and PISSED.

I was sitting here, on the computer, balancing baby on my lap, bottle, and computer mouse, and I smelled POT. I thought I was losing it. But then I remember last week I smelled POT. Also while sitting here. And if I remember correctly, I smelled it and then felt HIGH after smelling it, but thought it was my pain killers.

So…. tonight, I smelled it again. But hubby was up. So I asked him “come here… you smell that?” I said “that” because if he said “what’s that?” then I would know that it was me, and not POT. So he goes “FUCK YEA, I smell WEED.” I was all like “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!” and I jumped up and covered the baby’s ears for some retarded reason, like as if covering his ears would protect him from getting CONTACT HIGH.

So he smells the heat vent. And he goes “OH MY FUCKING GOD! It’s all up in here! SHIT!”
I was laughing, I dunno if it was from the “all up in here” comment or from CONTACT HIGH. But he got pissed real quick and went upstairs.
Then I was all “oh shit.”

See… my neighbors, upstairs, even though they are in their mid forties and have two SMALL CHILDREN ages 2 and 8 that live there also, they are fucking pot heads and alchies. They keep to themselves, unless the wife is on a drunken high and smashing vases against the husband’s head. But, alas, we ignore that, if we can.

The husband is a huge pot head. He giggles a lot and is often seen with Frito’s in his hand. Bagged or just gathered in a bunch.

So, we figured, good old Ray was smoking himself a bong, or bowl, or was sitting in front of a machine that was blowing it at his face or ass or something. And for some fucking reason, it was going into the registers and being transported from their apartment through the vents and into our dining room heat vent. Not cool, man. No, not cool.

So Keith goes up there and confronts him. The second time while we have lived here, the first time being that we smelled it from the front PORCH in the summer and asked him to please try not to smoke a whole fucking BUSHEL if he could, or if he could, to please cover the front of the door with a fucking TOWEL? AT LEAST? YA THINK?

So, I guess Rayray the fucktard gets kinda pissy, but is nice to Keith about it all, and they both smell his vent. I try not to picture two men bending over smelling vents, because it makes me giggle. Must be the CONTACT HIGH.

They figured what happened was what I said, that it went through the vents and circulated into our apartment, or what the fuck ever. Ray said he would smoke elsewhere in the house, or would blow it out the window. Keith told him he doesn’t care, he just doesn’t want the shit being blown in our faces, “we have kids, ya know, we don’t want them inhaling this shit. just like we don’t smoke and impose it on other people in their homes, I don’t expect it to be shoved at us.”

Thanks baby, for being nice. But you should have been meaner, like me.

‘Cause lemme tell ya this, I thought I heard the neighbor lady “drunken whore” come home from work and say something like “its our house! shit!” or something to that degree when she was coming in down the hall to her place, probably when the husband told her Keith went up there to confront his bong ass blowing machine.

Listen here bitch, its not just your house, it’s a two family house, and we- unlike you- have decided that pot and drugs and drinking are days of the past. Selfish twenties. Over. Done with. Along came kids and responsibility, along came decisions not to be drunken pot heads that fuck all day long.
As I was saying unlike you, we have chosen to lead lives that we would like our CHILDREN to follow.

*takes breath*

And also, if you EVER come knocking on my door, with that funky assed attitude about why we are invading your privacy, I will knock your crotched face ass so far into next week it ain’t funny.

I am from the ghetto, wench. I am out of it, but it still lives inside, and when someone pisses off this bitch, I fight. It runs in my blood. And it boils when people like YOU and Rayray the smokey ass piss me off.

Enough said. I have rambled on enough. I think it was the CONTACT HIGH that made me RAMBLE.

** EDIT***
I will also point out, not to FUCK with me, cause my best friend’s husband is a COP. (don’t smack me Trini, please).

Maybe it’s because it’s in my old neighborhood.

Maybe because it was at a store I used to go to every morning before school started. and every afternoon after school was over, on my way to the bus stop.

Or, maybe the biggest reason why, is because this woman was a mother to two small babies the same ages as my own smallest.

For whatever reason it is, … it hurts. And I don’t understand why things like this happen in our world. In our backyards. In our faces.

Clerk and young mother fleeing gunmen shot, killed

Cold-blooded killings send shock waves through Hispanic community

Mother, husband talk of mom’s faith

I am searching the net.
I am searching for Christmas presents for my kids.

In particular my daughter. She has requested some books and I was searching for a particular book I enjoyed as a little girl.
I could not remember the name of said book for the life of me. What I could remember was it was about a little girl that deals with her mother remarrying, her mother having a new baby, and her naming her baby brother Jello because of his initials. Or something.
And the little girl having chicken pox or something.

I had both of those things going on when I was a kid, and thought, maybe the book will help her in her own transition of having a new baby brother.
Ok, so onto my findings.

I am searching, Googling, Amazoning, and putting in shit like “girl who’s mother remarries and she nicknames her baby brother JELLO” shit like that, ’cause that’s the shit I remember about the book.
Then I shorten it to “literary books for children ages 6-10.”
I come across this list.
A strange kinda little list.
A list of different types of situations. like:”Jimmy is green, because he is adopted”. You know, stuff like that.

And then I see it.

I see something that makes me realize, my kid may one day be going to school with another kid that was conceived by a turkey baster. I come across this:
Let Me Explain: A Story About Donor Insemination. Jane T Schnitter. Illustrated by Joanne Bowring. 1995. 32p. (gr 1-5). Perspectives Press. The main character of this book, a young girl, explains the basics of being conceived via donor insemination. Her tone is completely matter-of-fact. She shows her strong attachment to her dad and her lack of confusion about her donor father. Let Me Explain creates the warm and reassuring message that this alternative form of family building produces a normal, loving father/child relationship.
Buy It Now:

Not that being a turkey baster kid is bad. I mean you have a loving family just like any other kid. But see… I never had a friend that came from a turkey baster. I had a friend FROM Turkey. and I had friends that ATE turkey. And I even had friends that ACTED like turkeys…. as a matter of fact, like JIVE turkeys. But I never had a friend that came from the baster that BASTES the turkey.

So, for that reason, I wouldn’t know what to do.

Do you ever wonder, if your life is just playing… over and over again?
Who keeps turning the rewind button on, on the other side of the box?

I know someone is fucking with me on the other side of the box. Because my life keeps going over and over and over the same bullshit.

The baby is sick again. It’s uglier than last time. He has an upper resp. infection and I was up with him 2 nights now. He coughs and has these attacks, they are horrifying to watch a 2 month old cough over and over like that. My husband had to rush him into the ER at 4 a.m. the other morning. Then we made repeat visits with his pediatrician.

He has seen the pediatrician more in two months than kids have seen him in a year.

So let’s replay this again, shall we?
I get another fucking infection and end up in the ER last week.
The baby gets another fucking infections and ends up in the ER and pediatrician THIS WEEK.

Can we just fast forward to summer days 2005, when my son is a happy fat baby dangling his tiny fat toes in the water, and I am able to wear shorts without elastic? Can we? ‘Cause this sickly suckly ass winter weather episode, is just not worth rewinding over and over again.