Not the usual day

Would you believe it? I wore jeans today…AND I left the house.

I’m not sure exactly what got into me. It’s hard to be comfortable in jeans with my cupcake top. I’d call it a muffin top but please I don’t eat those. A muffin is just a cupcake disguised as a healthy cousin, but you’re being lied to. Cupcakes all the way!

I digress.

So I took the kids to Old Navy to get a refresh on their lean wardrobe. Can you imagine the three let loose to overpower me while I’m trying to pick clothes for all three.

I’m dropping things thru the store, customers chasing me with our lost items.

The free balloons were weaponized in 30 seconds. I’m not even sure who told on who the most and over the lamest things.

The youngest 2 kids were extra excited to take turns in the cart with attached baby seat. The youngest got a few rides in. The middle child was ready to break down she didn’t get a ride as we were in the checkout line.

The 2 were bickering and the youngest refused to give up her spot. I promised the middle I’d make it happen for her. Please, no tantrums.

Now applying for a tour guide position at Old Navy…

Let’s make a turn here at women’s sunglasses, pass the flip flops and head to my favorite section. Elastic waistbands. They’re a mom’s best friend.

“What are you talking about momma?”

One day they’ll understand my humor, and then I’ll be paying some hefty therapy bills.

I loop back around to my oldest.

“I need tissue mom!”

Boogers have run down to her lip.

“Excuse me, do you have some tissue?” I ask the cashier. She passes over two. Why so stingy I wonder. “Thank you.”

I see everyone in line looking at us. The people that returned our dropped items, the people mentally judging our cart and tour.

I smile confidently at them and promise. “I’m a good mom.”

And you know what, I am. As my kids ran around they had fun. Their bickering was normal and no one knocked down a mannequin (I think). I’d say this was a success.

We popped over to the restaurant next door.

Now before I continue I’m going to share this information. We are restauranteurs. I have worked every job in the house. Bar, waiting tables, expo, line cook, managed, ordering, etc. You name it, I’ve done it. I’m fully proficient and comfortable in this environment.

That being said there are a few rules we live by. Never complain. Never speak out negatively against a restaurant. It’s just tacky.

So we sit down, order the food and drinks at the same time. Kids in this setting are a ticking time bomb. We wait 35 minutes and still no food. The kids are antsy and I’m wondering what is taking so long.

We are at a chain. There are 10 tables in the place and I can’t figure out what the problem is.

The table next to us placed their order after us, and got our food before us. To a customer this is annoying. Before we jump to the conclusion this is a 2 top, no it’s a table of 4 and we are a table of 5.

This is a fail on the server’s part. She likely submitted their order first. It would make no sense for the kitchen to fire their order first otherwise.

I noticed all the staff coming to visit this other table. She used to work here. Now it all makes sense.

Our server touches our table to tell us our food will be out soon.

She finally returns with our food and a second round of entrees for the other table. That other table got 2 rounds of entrees in the time it took us to get one.

We eat and the food has died in the window. My youngest hates her pizza. This meal was a complete fail.

The manager touches our table.

“Is everything ok here?” He asks.

“Yes everything is ok.” I tell him.

“Okay.” He smiles and leaves.

If this guy worked for me he’d be advised that mediocrity is unacceptable. Never ask a table if things are “ok.” You might as well ask if everything sucked.

“How is everything?” Is a much better question. It’s a better way to get an honest answer from the guest.

After the manager left my youngest yelled “Wait! I want to tell him I don’t like my pizza.” After waiting nearly an hour for mediocre food we left, with my 3 year old hungry.

Eating out with kids is basically a disaster.

Onto the last stop. Home Depot, we did a quick lap, grabbed some samples. Fed the little some purse snacks. Then I stopped to ask an associate some questions.

Every so often you find someone that can keep up. This older man was a veteran, full of wit and was happy to help while soaking up the kids.

“Do you plan to demo the countertop?”

“No, I’m lazy.”

This counter top will stain, blah blah blah.

“I use a lot of acids, lemons, coffee, etc. when I cook.”

“You should stop taking acid.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t spill red wine on it.”

“I don’t drink.”

“You must take meds.”

“Shouldn’t everybody?”

His coworker is looking on horrified.

He looks to my husband. “You must have a good life.”

“I do.” The hubs responds.

We thank him for his help and head for the door.

We make it to the checkout where another associate begins talking to the kids.

I love it when people try to talk to my kids. They always say the best things in response. As the checkout guy asked the youngest how she was there was no hesitation.

“I want to poop on the man.” I’m pretty sure he wanted to die but I had a good laugh.

Spring Break

I’m grumpy. The kind of grumpy that is so annoying that you can’t even stand to be around yourself.

The thing is I keep telling my family I’m grumpy, but there’s just no time for it.

I don’t know what it is about a school break that brings impending doom.

I’m one of those moms that loves when my kids are home. I’m not of the I can’t wait to send them back mindset.

There will never be another today. Our children will never be any younger than they are now. As the days and years pass they are loosing their innocence. The hurt feelings from peers will soon become broken hearts from first crushes.

I want to absorb these moments. All of them, even the ugly, then get thru them while they hold my hand.

We are shaping people, little people that deserve to become strong confident people. People that know what love is. People that can navigate the challenges of life.

So why am I grumpy if I’m surrounded by my people on a lovely school break?

It never fails. Every time we get a nice break we get smacked with sickness. It’s such a disappointment too.

Somehow my kids find a cesspool of germs and find a way to ingest them. How do they do it? What are we licking door knobs? Catching a sneeze to the face? What is the secret recipe?

*Le Sigh*

I’m laying next to the oldest, she’s passed out sick and feels like a fever is setting in.

The youngest is crying, stuffed up to the max and I’m grumpy.

All week I hustled just to keep my schedule open this week. I had high hopes. I was even thinking I’d take the kids to a waterpark!

Someone send tissues, not for the sickies but for me. I’ll be here wallowing in my own self pity. Mourning the loss of a waterpark while wearing my nemesis…the bathing suit.

After today’s breaking down of kids every 5 minutes I need to go hide in the closet and eat chocolate.

Forget the chocolate, I might make it to the waterpark. Ugh, decisions. The chocolate’s worth it.

I hope this passes quickly. We’ve got shenanigans to get into and memories to create.

Either way I’m sure we will find something worth sinking our teeth into.

Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to my 39 year old se-elf, Happy Birthday to me.

I didn’t really have any ideas or plans for my birthday. There were a few things however, I hadn’t planned on.

Twas the eve of my birthday. It was an average evening, nothing notable.

We head to bed about 10:30 and we take the dogs with us. This is a precautionary measure as our weekend guests brought a dog as well.

It’s 12:17am

I shoot upright in bed, confused.

What the what??

I see a dog’s butt, Peanut’s butt.

He’s backed his ass up and is having diarrhea on the bed…on the blankets…on my crotch…a top the blankets!

The stench is so foul waves of gags are hammering me.

I’m hitting my husband.

The dog’s shitting on me.

“Huh, ok. What do you want me to do?”

“I can’t move, wipe the shit up and let the dogs out.”

My husband comes back 3 times to wipe up diarrhea. I’m holding the duvet cover off the comforter hoping it doesn’t seep thru.

It’s stinks so bad. It’s like a skunk in a porta potty in the August heat.

My husband asks what they got into. Like I have some answers to offer.

We strip off the duvet.

Husband decides the dogs don’t need to go out because it’s all out. Fine.

We retreat to our room that reeks of sunk and open ass.

We’re so disappointed we have to sleep in this contamination zone with only our lungs to purify the air.

We fall asleep.

Huuk! Huuk! Blarg!

I wake again, it’s 1:30am.

The other dog is now retching next to me. Why me? Why don’t they do this on my husband’s side of the bed.

“N! Butter’s throwing up.”

“Are you kidding me.”

I start cleaning it up, and get back in bed.

We roll over again to go back to sleep, but the dogs are huddled together. It’s weird.

“Hey, what are you doing” I ask as I go investigate. “There’s more puke over here!”

I clean that up, toss it into the toilet and flush.

The toilet floods.

Nope, that’s a tomorrow problem. I close the lid and retreat to bed.

We roll over for some shut eye.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

“Oh my God!”

The oldest is screaming, she’s had a bad dream.

My husband rage throws off the blankets and exits the room stopping only to pick up his pants on the way.

He gets to sleep on the top twin bunk with the oldest leaving me with the beasts of burden.

Sleeping commences.

Bleh! Bleck!

I lunge out of bed and shuffle the dogs towards the bathroom.

Please puke on the tile!


We didn’t make it, Butter puked in the hall.

I let the dogs out and go back for more carpet cleaning.

I’m muttering profanity under my breath and thinking my husband getting sausaged onto the top bunk bed has the better deal.

The dogs are in. I return to my bed for my next nap.

I wake up, it’s 8:30 and I pop up to look for the dogs. They’re gone. The hubby must have taken them.

We get up and discuss getting pooped on while sleeping. Everyone laughs.

My husband then confesses that when he ran out of the room he grabbed my sweatshirt and not pants. He wasn’t pleased being caught with no pants.

My brother in law explained with bulging eyes how he found the flooded toilet. He complained that someone had blow it out and left it. Then lastly, the stench was horrific.

As we pack up to head home I find a puddingish pile of poop hidden behind a chair.

I call the husband in for backup. He’s complaining about the consistency. It’s hard AND soft. It’s stuck to the shag. He yells he may need scissors. It’s too much! We’re all laughing at the shit storm.

As I write this we are driving home. The car is full of rank dog farts. We’ve already stopped once to let the manic poopers out with no luck.

Call me skeptical but I’m thinking we’re not making it home without a poosplosion happening…

Update: Butter just puked in the back. Husband just asked if we need to power wash it out. Quarter car wash he adds, twice.

Happy Birthday to me??

Potty training is the best

You want to know what a bummer this is!!??

I wrote a blog post and the draft is gone. What a major disappointment, I was into the final draft. *Sobs*

Here’s a tissue, dry your eyes.

I’ll work on rewriting that one I suppose…

So what do you want to hear about? Send me some ideas other than the hilarity disaster that I always am.

I recently had a mouthpiece made and I get to wear it all the time now. It’s supposed to help my jacked up jaw. In the meantime I get to tell people stories through lispy speech and sprays of spit.

Do you still have that tissue available? Wipe your face off.

Let’s get serious now.

I’m in the throws of potty training and it’s going mediocre at best.

I blame my husband. Somehow it always comes back to him. Know what I mean? Nothing can ever be my fault.

On my watch she wears training underpants. On his watch she wears pullups. To an almost 3 year old this spells confusion.

It does not work in my favor in case you didn’t or couldn’t do the math on that.

Can I tell you a secret??

Of course I can!

Do not under any circumstances sit at my table. Just stand. Take my word for it please. I have 6 dining room chairs and 2 or 3 of them have been full on peed on.

Close your mouth and stop laughing.

You either:

A. Haven’t had kids, will never be this much of a “don’t know what they’re doing” parent.
B. Haven’t been through this and are still “the greatest” parent that ever lived and knows everything.
C. Have lived it, closed this chapter and love watching others live this literal shit show.

You want to know what else??

I’ve scrubbed so much shit out of underwear, onesies, pants, etc. and I am not doing it…not anymore. Oh you shit your underpants, that’s ok honey, we’ll make it to the potty next time.

Then I throw that shit out, underpants and all.

I am done with that shit. You know who else loves this policy. The sitter, she’s never had to potty train so when I told her she wasn’t scrubbing poop underpants she was all aboard this no shit cleaning train.

So on Sunday my husband was “working” in his office.

We have a pee on the dining room chair, her favorite blanket, the floor. Since we are at the table you probably guessed it’s eating time. We progress to removing the pants and underwear which means we sit on the floor. She insists on pants removal by herself. I oblige.

Bad decision. The pants are stuck on her ankle and next thing I know she’s dragging them behind her mopping the floor with pee pants as she goes.

I get them off and here come the dogs. You know they are so helpful they just want to lick her butt.

I’m swatting frantically to keep those 2 vulture dogs away from her butt, contain the pee trail and screaming for help.

You know who showed up to help. No one.

Then when I recap the situation, post clean up frenzy I get the… “Oh, I didn’t hear you.” then feigns innocent smile.

That’s right friends. There has been selective deafness to disaster situations. If this is your first rodeo ladies I have some advice. Remove the knives from your home and refrain from stabbing your husband when they say stupid things like this.

Mentally pretend to smack them upside the head, it helps. It doesn’t really help, I’m a liar, but try it anyway.

I lived to see another day.

So far on my watch we have had 100% success today. The only thing that’s been dogging me is this peculiar “spill” or dried pee I’m not sure which. It’s under the table. I swear it wasn’t there for yesterday’s peemageddon. Thank God I wrote this. It just reminded me I need to go clean it, ew.

Accepting theories and answers…

Snack time Hustle

Hey there, me again.

For those of you that don’t know my background I’ll enlighten you here. Before I became a stay at home mom I was/am a Certified Cicerone and a restaurateur. My husband and I own 3 restaurants and I worked in them for years.

Last night I live updated the real time happenings of snack time.

My husband, bless his heart was preparing the snacks while I was sitting with the kids making sure they were eating.

He joked to me that “he was in the weeds.” This is a common phrase used in our industry when you are behind on servicing your customers.

This is the point where I was completely entertained and decided to live update the world. Waiting on your children is akin to the service industry in too many ways.

Here’s how it went down:

Me: N is waiting on his girls. He’s in the weeds.

Me: He’s running longer than normal ticket times. I’m waiting to speak with the manager.

Me: He just said “he’s in the weeds” again.

Me: Kids are complaining their food’s too hot.

Me: Still no manager…

Me: He’s outta the weeds and asking for more orders.

Me: Who let dogs in here? They’re not wearing service vests.

Me: He’s on break now 🙄

Me: I just complained that my server is playing with his phone.

Me: Where is the manager? Hell-O

Me: He burnt an order, customer refused and asked for a recook.

Me: He’s checking his phone again and knows I’m STILL waiting for the manager.

Me: Kids wanna know why he’s on the phone while facing the customer.

Me: We just asked for a beverage refill and he told me it was the end of his shift. That’s upsetting.

Me: Who is taking his tables?

Me: Refill times are slow.

SB: Looks like he deserves a write up and possibly a loss of a shift! Good thing you’re not a secret shopper ….

Me: I’m going to need a gift card to ever go back into my kitchen.

SB: It’s all about the training Heather! He just needs to anticipate ALL the needs of those he serves.

SB: P.S. The shift isn’t over until the side work is done! I should stop now, I still have to work with him haha!

CO: SB hahahahahahaha

Me: I was busting out laughing while typing! The demands of our little tyrants is so work relatable. ðŸĪŠ

JA: I’m going to send some shoppers. Sounds like anarchy.

CO: That is too funny but how fun.

JP: Hahahaha

You know, I’m thankful my husband accepts that I’m an overgrown idiot. I just need to laugh at everything. You can only be serious for so long.

Where do you find joy in your life if you can’t laugh at it.

Are you angry or break down and cry? That’s just no good. A mother bears the mental workload of the family.

In addition to the chores there are endless noses to wipe, boo boos to kiss, mental notes on activity schedules, homework help, clothes to buy, glasses to pick up, birthday parties to attend, the list is endless.

So who cares for mom? Mental health is important and motherhood closes the door on self care. When is there time to keep up?

Next thing you know you look like you napped in your car before the grocery run. Like that would ever happen. Nope. I’d take that time for an overpriced coffee run to keep up with my pack of wolves.

The vacuum

It’s a Wednesday morning, the oldest girls are ready for school. My mom comes over at 7:45 to watch my youngest P. The rest of us leave for school drop off.

It’s my morning to volunteer in the Kindergarten class. Every Wednesday is parent math, it’s fun to go help but every time I leave exhausted.

Another mom is there, a normal mom, the kind of mom that pulls it together when needed but is also just surviving.

It’s her first time volunteering. She’s asking me about the routine. I smile and oblige.

“So about 80% of the kids are fine, 10% will need extra help and the last 10% will be crawling on the floor. When you’re done you’re gonna want to do a shot.” She claps her hands and laughs at the idea. The thing is…I’m dead serious.

Volunteering goes mostly ok. I was given a game that shoots numbers out. I immediately deduce how this will go.

The kids start seeing who can shoot them the hardest and farthest. It only takes a few kids to derail the show. Kids are rolling on the carpet trying to jump attack their number.

Basically negotiating with kids is like talking to an irrational drunk person. There’s just no winning. I’m mentally taxed.

When it’s over I circle back and ask her how it went. “I’m exhausted” she says. “I don’t know how they do it.”

I say my goodbyes to my kiddo and head back home.

I get the recap on my mom’s morning, snack my toddler and chat with my mom a bit. I notice two dog bowls are missing, not atypical for P to play with them. I don’t think twice about it.

My mom leaves and so begins the lunch routine. I feel a little beat up which is my usual self. As we are nearing the end of lunch, toddler is losing focus. She starts leaving the table and getting “drive by bites.”

As she wanders off I don’t realize what she’s doing. I’m inhaling my lunch, so I’m oblivious.

When I finish scarfing my food I see what she has gotten into. Two out of four dog food bowls are filled with dirt from my plants. The dirt is also spilled everywhere.

It’s a fuggin disaster.

I leave the mess for later and head up for naptime. Then I spend the next 30 minutes cleaning the dirt.

Where are the other dog bowls? I half heartedly look but I’d rather take a coffee break and sit.

The big girl pickup time is looming. No rest for the wicked.

So here I am, groggy baby in my arms, biggest baby on me too. Shit! You have an ortho appointment in 30 mins.

Why me, can’t I just sit on my gloriously round ass.

Up I go, brushing teeth, shoving snacks at the groggy toddler. She is noncompliant so I get out the new neon pink kinetic sand. Table is ready for play and snacks. I leave dad in charge, steal the oldest kid and skip out.

The ortho and CVS are quick. I’m gone for a total of an hour. It’s relatively painless.

Once home I find the toddler playing on the stairs, with an ipad and the neon pink kinetic sand. Perfect.

Dad does a walk by on the phone, it’s a work call.

I see the sand poured out all over the coffee table and ground into the white shag carpet. Perhaps I should divorce shag? There’s an impending sense of doom in this category of my life.

Remnants of sand on the dining room table. It does look like the hubs cleaned up most of it. One point for him.

The vacuum comes out again. I clean up the coffee table, white shag carpet, dining room table and then the stairs. Put away the vacuum and head for some water.

Good God!

I’m hating my life in this moment.

The toddler has taken the two dog bowls and filled them with dirt again. Threw it all over the floor and covered the shelves. P!! You can’t play in the dirt, this is a no. The dog bowls are for the dogs.

Shoot me.

Out comes the hard working vacuum. Clean up is finished again.

I check to see if the kids need anything before I head off to set out school clothes and other boring adult tasks.

I see hubs still on the work call, sitting down looking all leisurely Sunday. It’s annoying. I’m annoyed from cleanup. I’m contemplating smother him in his sleep. This is the 50% of the time I hate him.

I leave him in the room after I laid out the girls clothes. Exiting I see sand on the floor in the hall bath. An empty sand bag in the sink and then I see the bathtub filled with neon pink sand.

That’s it. Max capacity has been hit. Eyes bugging. Steam has got to be coming off my head. I mean how does this happen? It’s through the entire house!!

I unpark the vacuum yet again and schlep my pissed off medium fat ass back upstairs. I sit on the toilet and sigh, defeated, exhausted and flaring pain.

Husband does his play dumb face and tries not to smile as I recap the destruction left in his wake. How? You watched two of your kids…for an hour!

“I mean did you even watch your kids??” I ask.

“Yeah, and I cleaned up the sand.” He tells me hands on hips.

Is he serious??

We clean out the tub and I’m holding a grudge.

The tailspin of the day peeters out.

While I’m doing my daily stretching I ask the hubs if he’s seen the missing dog bowls.

He looks at me clueless and says he’ll look. This falls into the category of the 50% of the time I’m glad I didn’t smother him. You see I think that’s how relationships work. 50% of the time your spouse is annoying, 50% of the time they’re not. It’s just how much you’re willing to work thru the crap determines if you survive marriage. If more people had this insight the divorce rate would likely go down.

Anyhow, the hubs is so confused and can’t find the bowls. As “the finder” of the house he must find them.

I’m still stretching as he comes galavanting thru the room. It’s like he’s parted the Red Sea he’s so proud.

“Well, where were they?”

“Outside, full of dirt and on top of the hot tub.”


How the hell did this happen? It’s in the 20’s. No one even went outside!

Toddlers, they’re like running a blender with no lid.

Holiday madness

Here’s a little snapshot of what life is like trying to take care of a young family while living with chronic pain. For those of you that don’t know I have chronic pain all over most of my body. The pain that is the hardest to cope with is the head and neck pain.

I have multiple head and neck pain issues and my pain can quickly escalate to unmanageable. Because of this I have a “rescue” which is what you would receive in an emergency room.

Getting through the holidays is difficult for everyone. Throw in some pain and things get dicey.

The holidays dropped me to rock bottom again.

My kids were sick and exhausted at the beginning of December. One of my kids has ongoing health issues which make her pretty delicate. A common cold will wipe her out for 6 weeks. It’s hard.

We all get sick with a cold. Delicate child gets a fever for 7 days. She’s eating and drinking fairly well but the coughing spasms are uncontrollable. We are up half the night for days. Doing her nebulizer, hit the Dr. and her asthma Dr. Basically it sucks.

Now the oldest gets a fever, luckily just a quick one. Somehow the rest of us are still ok with just colds.

Can the dogs get human viruses? I dunno, but coincidentally one of the dogs was sick for 2 days. At night we crate them and wow. Just wow. We had 2 nights of a diarrhea shit storm. Like hose the crate out in the driveway shit storm. Like the outer perimeter of the cage had piles of shit, sloppy shit. Shit literally dripping off the bars of the crate. OMG. The horror.

Husband took one for the team on that cleanup. He even had shit hands as it was dripping on him on the way to the driveway. Thanks for that clean up babe!!

Right as we are wrapping up school my youngest pukes, 4 steps in the door. Why does this happen to me? Surely it’s because I’m an asshole.

I so wanted our 2 weeks off. Our family desperately needed it. We are weary. We can’t take anymore. I can’t take anymore.

Thankfully the little one only had the one puke and barely showed a fever, low 99. I deserved this quick recovery.

The next day she seems fine and we head to the holiday party. Everything is fine and we Christmas festivity on.

Now I plan to host Christmas Eve at my house with 2 days notice. Yes, I clearly hate myself and I’m exhausted.

I decide I will cater this party. I have never catered a holiday party, so this was a first. With 2 days notice and us all being craptastic this December it’s my way of hitting the easy button.

My sister calls Christmas Eve morning, her son got the pukes last night. Projectile. I claim it’s probably from us and she still plans to come over.

So catering is supposed to show up at 1pm. It’s 1:20 and I comment how this place is always late. They were over an hour late last time I used them but they have good food.

It’s now 1:55 and they call me to tell me they need to sub some rolls and my order is ready for pickup. I tell the girl it was to be delivered at 1pm and she gets shitty with me.

Oh no you didn’t I’m thinking. I maintain my composure and tell her to deliver the goods and my guests are arriving in 5 minutes. She grumbles a bit. I hang up, call back and ask for the manager by name.

Manager advises the girl is wrong and the food will be on it’s way in a few. I’m totally fine with all of this.

Here’s the thing, it’s Christmas Eve, these people are working, preparing my food. I don’t have to do it so I am still thankful and don’t care that they are late.

Guests arrive, almost all of them.

I offer them all nothing and joke something will be available when the caterer shows up.

No one cares about late food.

I get a phone call, it’s the caterer. They never cooked my turkey.

WT ever loving F is going on.

I’m now declaring myself the Assholest of all Assholes. I have an out of body experience and witness myself on the phone in a state of moronic shock.

I’m sure I started the bubble guts with anxiety.

The Sous chef apologizes and offers something else in place. I accept AND I’m still not mad. In a bit of disbelief but STILL grateful I didn’t cook.

Now here’s the part where I tell you I had a raging migraine the whole day. This is basically the norm for me but it still sucks big time.

Hey you look nice today…thanks. I wore extra makeup to cover the fact I want to vomit on my shoes. *smile* Except I’m not really smiling. I’m sad. I’m sad I can’t enjoy anything, it’s really hard to when you’re in raging pain.

Everyone leaves, I velcro on my headache hat and start cleaning. I feel like I’m going to fall over and the nausea is horrendous.

We prepare for Christmas morning and I crawl to bed.

Christmas morning is lovely, kids are loving it. I spend most of the day cleaning up, opening toys, etc. I still feel like garbage.

It’s bedtime and I break. The pain has gotten unmanageable, I put myself to bed at 9pm and pray sleep will calm the pain. By 11pm I’m waking every 5 minutes. It’s agonizing. Pain so bad you can’t even lay down.

I drag myself to the bathroom and prepare my rescue. My rescue is not an auto injector I have to draw a vial and inject my thigh. I hate it. I never want to do it. I just need the pain to break.

I was in so much pain that halfway through the injection I could tell I was going to pass out. Pouring sweat, and my vision was going black. I threw the syringe and slumped over the toilet convinced I was gonna throw up.

I hate throwing up.

I have thrown up so much in my life I can’t stand it.

Things stay in and I crawl back to bed. I’m gonna wake up fine I tell myself.

Except I don’t. I wake up in slightly better shape. I’m an 8 in pain and I can’t get out of bed. I laid there waiting for anyone to check on me.

This is the thing about chronic pain. When you push it at all you break. Sitting down for an hour won’t even come close to fixing things.

I take my abortive which is the step before a rescue and force myself out of bed so my husband can leave.

When he returns I tell him we are just going to get out of town. I need to sit in a car for 3 hours. I need to not chase people for 3 hours. I need to hunker down where no one knows us.

I need to play board games and color with my kids. I need to do nothing and I can’t do nothing at home.

I’m sick as a dog. On top of the mess I am I have the head cold from hell. Mouth breathing everywhere I go.

So we get to the cottage and my husband declares he can’t move. His stomach hurts. He’s shaking. He probably has a fever. Or possibly a man cold. Pray for him, or me. I want to Benadryl myself but it’s not a great time for a Benadryl coma.

I busy myself with snacking the kids so they can get to bed, it’s late.

Husband goes to bed.

I get the oldest in bed and am working on feeding the other 2. Out of nowhere my youngest starts puking on our vintage shag carpet.

What the hell is happening. Will the level of my Assholeness ever stop??

This kid had the pukes like 5 days ago.

Am I an asshole?? Surely I must be an asshole because this stuff cannot happen to normal people.

Toddlers puking all over the bathroom, I’m scrubbing shag while mouth breathing.

Middle child is jumping on beds and it’s 10pm. Husband is whimpering in the background and here it is.

I loose my mind.

I cannot take anymore.

Get on bed, your sister is puking I scream between washing her up in the sink.

Toddler was up until midnight. Literally hell. Poor kid is all sorry momma as I assure her she’s gonna be okay and it’s not her fault.

Over the night I’m sure I woke up no less the 857 times. I was bed sweating with a stuffed and runny nose. How does that even happen??

I expect a shiny trophy declaring I am in fact the “Mother of the year” come 2019.

The 12 days of Christmas

On the 12th day of Christmas my family gave to me, nonstop whining tantrums and screams of rage that were ugly.

On the 11th day of Christmas my family gave to me, smelly toots and skid-marked underwear that’s dirty.

On the 10th day of Christmas my family gave to me, the never-ending cold and I can’t stop coughing please pity me.

On the 9th day of Christmas my family gave to me, panick attacks a plenty and horrific anxiety.

On the 8th day of Christmas my family gave to me, a completely destroyed house to clean before the last minute party.

On the 7th day of Christmas my children gave to me, nonstop night waking will we ever get to sleep again we’ll see.

On the 6th day of Christmas my family gave to me, last minute hosting please come take my last bit of sanity.

On the 5th day of Christmas you can find me, closet eating chocolate and I will not share with thee.

On the 4th day of Christmas wrapping gave to me, paper cuts a plenty and I’m getting really bitchy.

On the 3rd day of Christmas my family gave to me, 1 psychotic break can you find a program to take me.

On the 2nd day of Christmas my doggies gave to me, 2 nights of explosive diarrhea completely dripping off their crate yippie.

On the 1st day of Christmas my toddler gave to me, puking 4 steps in the door, Christmas is shaping up to be a God damn catastrophe!

Merry Christmas everyone 🎄


I don’t know what it is with us and water. It seems anywhere we live, water follows. Then I find myself up shits creek without a paddle.

We have had our current house flood 3 times. Why? Because We suck at life.

I’m talking the water came in to the stairs flood. I’m talking shoes floating past you flood. The carpet splashes when you walk flood and the kids think that’s fun as hell. Only it’s really not.

We do not have a basement, but a tri level type of lower level and it’s finished. Why would a known to flood level be finished? Well you know we’re stoopid, okay. Hollow sounds knock on the head stoopid. To say we are traumatized is the understatement of the freaking year.

In our lower level we have a walkout to a patio which is lovely but has also become a complete nightmare when it rains.

It was a dark and stormy night, literally. Raining heavy and steady. Not torrential downpour but close to it. Fear of imminent flooding upon us.

I pressed my forehead against the cold door wall to get a better look into the dark. My heart sank. My forehead squeaked down the glass as I slumped further into self pity.

The water was up to the exterior door sill. We had maybe an inch until it started flooding the house. The patio was already 6 inches deep. Yep, we’re screwed.

It’s time for the rain boots we decide looking out into it. We have to make sure the drain isn’t clogged and start manually bailing water, which is the most exercise my mom bod sees these days. Maybe it should rain more often.

The husband volunteers to put the easiest kid to bed, then go out as I put the other 2 to bed. Looks like my muffin top gets to avoid the work out.

Once upstairs I peek out the window.

It’s desperate.

During flashes of lightning I can see him. It’s like watching “Fun with Dick and Jane” except he’s not cutting out chunks of lawn. He’s frantically bailing away, dreanched, and looks like a deranged lunatic.

He is however determined and completely ready for anything mother nature throws at him.

He’s just as prepared as you’d expect any man to be. All decked out in boxers and a t-shirt, seemingly barefoot and helplessly bailing away. I can’t help but laugh as this time it’s not me out there. I’m all wrapped up warm in my robe peeking out the curtains.

All the kids are asleep now, I come downstairs where I’m greeted by my husband. He’s winded, sopping wet with water dripping down his face. He’s been at it for an hour, he didn’t make a dent, and we are loosing.

“I give up”. He tells me defeated. “Whatever’s gonna happen is gonna happen.”

We go to bed. I’m reeling at the thought of another flood. He’s beat and snoring away.

We have carpet so when we flood there is this annoying process of ripping up one side of the carpet to create an “air pocket” for the air movers. Drying carpet smells like hell but my kids love it, not the stank but the air pocket. They think it’s a riot jumping on the blown up carpet. An impromptu trampoline post flood, because kids are kids.

Why me? The hamster in my mind is exhausted and getting no where.

Morning comes and by the grace of God it did not enter the house this time. Husband is pleased but also baffled.

“It stopped raining in the night but the patio is still flooded. The ground is dry, I don’t understand.”

Sometime later he decides he needs to investigate further. This time he actually goes outside…

“You’re never going to believe this.”


“I went outside to see why the patio wasn’t draining and I noticed there was water spilling out of the top of the hot tub. Then I remembered I turned on the hose to top it off after the kids were in it.”

“Oh. My. God.” I say scooping my jaw off the floor, teeth slamming together. My face contorts into an ugly face of horror.

“I couldn’t get ahead bailing because the hose was on full blast. I almost flooded the house.” He’s laughing now at the trainwreck of our lives.

“Do you believe I did that to myself??”

“Yes, yes actually I do.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I think I said it.”

There are no words!

I live with chronic pain

There’s a little known fact about me that few people know. I live with chronic pain. Every. Day.

Two years ago it got so bad I couldn’t function. I could hardly get out of bed and I almost never left home. No one understood and no one could help me. We’re not even sure what caused it.

Now I have always had migraines, I was diagnosed as a young child. By my teenage years I was living with chronic migraine. My friends and family couldn’t relate and all I ever heard was: You have another headache.

It feels like people stop believing you. I assure you no one wants to live like this. Working was always hard for me but I muscled through the pain for years.

I’m 38 now, 2.5 years ago something happened to me and I felt like I was dying. Every day.

I didn’t want to wake up the pain was so bad. Systems were shutting down but no one could find anything “wrong”.

I was in and out of Drs. offices where they all assured me it was just my migraines acting up and I’d be fine.

I knew they were wrong so I kept working my way through different specialties.

I kept getting worse and the next thing I knew I couldn’t even make it 2 hours into the day before I needed to go back to bed.

Exhaustion so extreme I couldn’t even manage to shower let alone take care of my family.

I was admitted to the hospital for the first time. I thought surely my Drs. would take me seriously now.

I was wrong.

Many tests were run and while they did find some problems they again reassured me I would be fine.

I was discharged from the hospital and put on the lowest dose antidepressant because they believed my pain was psychcosematic.

What an insult.

I continued to worsen.

I was now vomiting daily from pain and living on a toddler mattress in my bathroom. I was in and out of ERs at this point with dehydration and intermittent treatment of pain.

They could only get me manageable and then send me home again.

My head felt like it was being crushed. I was nauseous at all times. I lost the vision in one eye for 2 weeks. I developed tachycardia. Sever neck, face and jaw pain. It worked its way down the left side of my body focused on my elbow and hip.

I’d schlep myself through the pickup line at school with heating pads on my face.

I’d given up that anyone was willing to help me.

I started traveling to Ann Arbor for treatment. It was there I began seeing someone that believed me.

For the next 6 months I had seen very minimal improvement. About the only thing that happened was I stopped vomiting daily. They pain was still very bad, the meds I was on just stopped the throw up part.

I was struggling to get through the day and still not capable of any tasks. Doing the dishes would put me out, laundry was a hard no. Forget about leaving the house for grocery shopping, that wasn’t even an option.

I was back in the ER. My mother and husband were discussing getting me to the Mayo clinic.

It was at this point I broke down and agreed to be admitted in Ann Arbor. My Dr. told me that 30% of the patients he sees just need to be hospitalized but I’d have to wait for a bed as this was a special program. They focus on head and neck pain.

Four or five days passed when I got the call. I didn’t want to leave my family but I knew I needed to do it.

I arrived and was in extreme pain. Like many other hospital and doctor visits they got to see me in agony and vomiting until I passed out exhausted.

I was in for 2 weeks.

It was a strange experience for me in the sense that these people understood me. Finally someone could relate. They asked if the lights were too bright, if they were being too loud, they knew what it was like to always be in pain.

I will say I am on an uptick. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be pain free or even get back to the better life I knew but I hope I can.

My family needs me to.