Facebook only allows me so much room to properly express my day to day traumas and by the time I condense it to Facebook length, it's hardly that traumatic so I said fuck that, here's the whole story! Ready!?
I have three human miniatures (kids) ages 10,8 and *almost* 5. Two boys and a girl, yeah. Now that we've established that, we can now establish that yesterday we celebrated super awesome Independence Day with the family at my brothers. It's my FAVORITE holiday! It typically entails drinking but the responsibility of driving home killed that dream. Oy vey.
Swimming,hottubbing,eating, fireworks, karaoke and insane amounts of shenanigans were had until about three in the morning when this SOBER Mommie loaded the children and all their accessories and belongings into Lucie Lancer and drove home and into the garage. At this point, I can HEAR the Untrustables (pugs) going HAM because they hear us and the boys are running around willy nilly tormenting one another while I carry a very limp diva to the door and unlock the sumbitch. Teeth are grudgingly brushed and within ten minutes, silence has commenced but I'm too tired to care and I go the hell to bed too. Damn.
I told you that, to tell you this. This group of party animals slept in until about noon, for real! It sounds great and really, it was except that I had to get up way earlier to take pugs potty and feed and water the insatiable freaks and I attempt to go right back to bed. Not easy, it's light outside and I have a monstrous headache so after some aleve and water, I'm snuggled in my bed exhausted but not able to sleep.
I get on the iPhone, get Netflix goin and plow through several episodes of Weeds season 6 until I doze off, which gained me about forty five minutes of mediocre sleep before the troops have woken with an intense sensation of hunger and irritation. Eh, I'll take it.
Still with me? Long and drawn out I know but you really need to realize the level of irritation I was in and take not that my nonsense intake was not in a charitable mood.
Things One,Two and Three are fed and watching a movie because apparently Indiana has reached it's peak in HELL setting. I'm just saying if I break a sweat yawning outside, we are staying inside or going to a water park and I didn't have the ability or motivation to tackle half dressed people that have no damn business being anything but mummified to protect my gag reflex. Inside it is.
After twenty minutes of arguing over which movie, who sits where and who is breathing too loudly or sitting too closely or whatfuckingever, there is a calm. This is my cue to go shower and listen to music that is not only inappropriate and filled with profanity but also makes me happy. I firmly believe anytime you can combine Manaj, Jay Z and Kanye with dirty words and the phrase,"I'm a MUTHA FUCKIN MONSTA!" it's a win.
Any parent that says they don't use the restroom as an escape at least once is a bold faced liar. I don't care if you're super nanny, Mary effin Poppins, we need to get away from these mouth breathers sometimes! I'm in a towel, brushing my teeth listening to a naughty song and acquiring mental "swag" and the damn door flies open and Pacey immediately starts in on some comic book coming out in two weeks. I'm looking at him just waiting for him to realize that he just busted in on his Mom in the bathroom wrapped in a towel and nothing else and be traumatized and get the hell out! Does he? Oh hellllll nah. He pauses for a nano second, just long enough to hear Jay Z drop the f bomb. Great.
He grins, totally my kid,"Mom, is that Jay Z?"
Now I'm just proud, the kid has taste!
"Because he just said the f word. We can't say that."
He has a point but so do I and dammit I'm kinda over it! Get out, fuck.
Me:"Yes, it's Jay Z and yes he said the f word and Mommie is REALLLLLLY close to saying it too if I can't get dressed alone!"
I'm still utterly dumbfounded that his sense of modesty hasn't kicked in yet. This is the same kid, along with his younger brothers assistance, lodged a complaint with me because their friends said I was cute. Apparently, they wanted me to ugly it up a bit. Gawd. Jerks. These SAME kids have no compunction about entering the bathroom with the force of a DEA raid!
Pacey:"Will you make me popcorn?"
What the hell! As if I could facilitate a massive popcorn popping festival from the bathroom, really!? And you're ten, walk into the kitchen, open the cabinet and get the popcorn and proceeded to the microwave and pop the hell out of it! Damn!
I'm sure you're asking why I didn't lock the door and I admit, you make a great point. I'll tell you why. In the tenish years I've had children, I've had each one lock themselves inside (more than once) and proceed into a full meltdown. When I say "meltdown", I do not mean a little crying and a slight panic. I want you to envision one of those homely, morally compromised women on Maury that are seeking DNA testing and upon learning the nineteenth guy tested ain't "da baby daddy" and loses her shit. Wailing, speaking in tongues, convulsions....that kind of shit. Not to mention the inevitable breaking into the bathroom to rescue them and the clean up afterwards. No thanks.
With Pacey gone and the door cracked, Ashton and Sophie make their move! Do I know how to spell Justin Bieber? Will Green Day tour here soon and if so, will I take him (Ashton) and only him?
It's at this time that Sophie has decided to give me a play by play of her favorite parts of The Avengers with a mini reenactment. She's totally The Hulk punching Thor, pretending to punch Ashton in the side of the noggin and he appropriately throws himself on the floor in defeat and then enlisting her lamby to show me how The Hulk made Loki his bitch and threw him around like a ragdoll. Pretty creative and whatnot but I'm in a dayum towel! Get OUT!
They retreat to create new nonsense and the Untrustables enter and sit to stare at me and occasionally lick my leg.
I realize peeing without assistance may be just a novelty but c'mon, let's not make a social gathering of it!