One of the magical parts of A.D.D. Is waking up to find your keys and wallet on your porch steps and your car door wide open.
Today is Good Friday. I want you all to find a small child and explain to them what Good Friday is all about. It’s super hard to do.
I did this by playing a YouTube video of Jesus dying on the cross.
One of my kids ran out of the room to throw up.
The crucifixion can be really graphic .
But kids need to know the truth.
This is where I’m really bad as a mom.
I took my kids to see the Boss Baby.
And one came away really bothered by getting old and dying.
Dan said he didn’t want to get old and die and he didn’t want me to get old and die.
I look at him and in all seriousness I say:
“You don’t have to be old to die.
Even children die.”
He looks at me and knows I’m a bad mother. Even I know at this tender moment that was the wrong thing to say.
So I take him out to eat and let him get whatever he wants.
I will blame all of this on Barbara Bush.
I once read that after she had a miscarriage she brought the fetus home in a medical glass container and set it up on the table in front of GeorgeDubya and the rest of the kids. And explained why she and her husband stood against abortion.
No matter where you stand on the subject – you gotta admire that gumption. I read that story in high school and it always stuck with me. Not the political part but the kind of mom she was. Just laying it all out there like that.
Plus- it’s so much fun to blame things on people.
Ben announced that he and his wife are expecting.
I want another one.
Baby’s are like tattoos for me right now.
I just want more and I don’t know why.
So I think that T- bone should go get one of those reversals done.
But then I think ugh! So much money 💰
Then It reminds me if how broke we are.
So now I’m over having another baby.
Until I see a baby or see baby clothes in a store then I’m all in my feels Again.
I only have 2 tattoos and I love my first one. It’s a white Christian fish on my wrist. I got it in 2003 before people were doing white ink or wrist tats. But I also knew someone in the biz so I had a lot of info before I got mine at 18.
So here is a story: when I got my tat on my 18th 🎉 birthday. I forgot my purse 👛.😬
And had no way to pay for my tat.
Luckily the guy who owned the shop was in charge of a charity that helps get presents to underprivileged children. He said if I volunteered to help the tattoo was on the house.
So, YES – of course!
I show up the agreed upon date. And they tell to go change into my Santa’s helper costume….
Its one of those slutty Santa helper outfits with thigh high stockings and all that mess.
At this point: the kids can get there own gifts.
But one of the other suckers, I mean, volunteers convinced me that it wasn’t that bad and made some adjustments so I felt more comfortable.
Ok- I can do this.
So we get there. It’s an all day event, but in my mind I was going to be hanging out with kids giving them presents so no big deal.
They tell us to get on stage and dance with Santa
By this time I figure out that the other girls are all employed as strippers with the exception of one who worked in a sex shop.
We all rode together in a limo and I am stuck at the event. I just run into the crowd and tried to blend in.
I can’t blend in- I’m a slutty Santa helper.
I end up having to take pictures with people.
I hate pictures, I hate people
And where are all these underprivileged kids ???
But I don’t want to see kids because, yuck – I’m a slutty Santa helper.
So finally it’s time to go and we are all exhausted and get back into the limo.
Which at that point the girls light joints and relax.
No big deal, I’m totally cool.
But I’m not.
They ask me if I want one
Which now in retrospect was completely polite
But after the day
I blurt out, No!- roll down the window and pray Jesus comes back or for a car wreck to take me away from the miserable hour long car ride .
It’s one of those stories I will tell my kids as we drive to get their first tattoos. That way I know for sure they don’t have to sign-up to be slutty Santa helpers.
Unless they want to be slutty Santa helpers. I will love them no matter what.
But they can’t bring those costumes in the house.
Because I’m still not over all that, yet.
In conclusion, Congrats to Ben and his family!
T bone says I need to make this blog generate 💰 money.
T bone: sell something
T-bone: I don’t know, contraceptives
Yaasssss! I want to sell “There Will Be Beer” condoms.
On each condom wrapper, I want a photograph of kids.
And then on the back of it, there should be a story of some sort of inevitable parenting fail.
Picture : A two year old with an exploded diaper all over your bedroom.
And the caption would read: This is your life in two short years. Enjoy!
Best condoms ever!!!!!!!!!!!
That whole scene was actually my Valentines evening. And the smell still lingers.
Happy Valentines, buttercups.
I know it is really cool to be a housewife and drink 🍷 wine. And I used to be one of them. Until the one night….
T-bone and I get invited to a Christmas party every year. It is something we look forward to all year long because:
– No kids
– the adults are professional city folks. (we don’t get a lot of that)
– we are one of the few couples that have kids. So the rule is no kid talk.
– it’s not even a couples party- plenty of single people! Which is 👏 awesome.
Something that is not awesome:
I got wasted.
I thought since I was one of these hip moms that drinks a glass of wine everyday, that I could handle taking 5 shots of fireball-no problem.
It is a HUGE problem. Puking during the party is not cute. Telling people your name is Lauren is also not cute.
Sleeping on a luggage rack at the hotel that your husband splurged on is NOT awesome either.
But here is the real kicker!!! We got invited back for New Years!!! Omgeeeee, a second chance for me to redeem myself and to show people I can be normal!!!!
My mom, who was supposed to babysit was having a medical issue and I had to babysit her instead. So I missed a my chance to be normal with cool people in the city.
I tried to cheer myself up by creating a “New Years midnight glitter run”on the Facebook.
No one responded.
Meet my neighbors : The Trufs.
A family of 7 that live next door.
A husband, wife and their band of grown, adult kids with never ending shenanigans that at times could overwhelm Charles Manson, nonetheless always entertaining.
While the Trufs live next door to us in a pretty normal neighborhood in a low social-economic rural town. They come from wealthy New York society who relocated to Texas in the early 70’s.
For Christmas the Trufs do dinner with upper crust extended family at one of Fort Worth’s finest steakhouse.
Mom tells the adult kids, “Be sure to dress up.” Oldest son attends the dinner wearing full wizard costume, complete with hat and wand.
2nd son comes out wearing a top of the line tailored suit.
2nd son drinks too much wine (highly out of his character) and goes missing from dinner.
Mom receives a text from the son saying that he is lost and has stepped in dog poop.
Family finds the son in back alley behind the restaurant. He hasn’t stepped in dog poop, he has lost all control of his own bowel movements and is laying in it.
Night ends with mom hosing down her son in her relative’s backyard.
I love Christmas stories with happy endings.
Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. And now that New Years here and I want to wear some sort of swanky dress that glitters.
It can’t happen.
After all those major food holidays there is not enough sequins on this earth to place on a dress for me. Who designed this holiday season??? I want answers.
What gets me the most is New Years is made for me -ME!
If I ruled the world, I would wear couture gowns everyday. I don’t even like jeans… JEANS! I love heels and glitter and crowns and all that jazz and now that my time has come even my very normal jeans won’t button.
It’s all my fault.
In other news, the kids and I are going to the doughnut shop for the 3rd time this week. 🍩
Why there isn’t an emoji with its mouth full and crumbs on the face is beyond me.
One thing I really pat myself on the back for is that I taught my kids the song “Blue Christmas.” This is what I like to call “Christmas Kryptonite.”
Christmas Kryptonite= songs that drive you mad at Christmas.
Anyway, I taught my kids Blue Christmas because it’s my husbands Kryptonite and it’s really funny to see his eyes bug out of his head when the kids randomly sing it.
My Christmas Kryptonite= Christmas Shoes.
I walked out of church one Sunday because it was featured in the special music. I can’t get down with all that.
Another parenting “high five” I give myself: buying some hella expensive toothpaste. it’s charcoal and I don’t care about its health benefits. But to see my kids get really freaked out when that stuff starts foaming at my mouth like black lava. It was $10.00 well spent!