I don’t understand it.

Michelle Dugger just had her umpteenth baby on some sex filled mission to populate the earth with her babies. Between holding up her hair while using the toilet, home schooling her 900 kids, cooking enough food to feed all of the homeless people in NYC and keeping her vagina from falling out on the floor, how does she find the time for sex?

And really, why hasn’t her uterus become road kill yet?

I have two children. Ages 3 and 11. They are all consuming and messy and sassy. Although I love them more than my luggage, I wouldn’t want to do it over and over and over…even if it did mean my husband would think I’m sexy enough that I didn’t need a haircut, makeup or style.

And how do they financially support all these children? I know they have that reality show and all but seriously, that’s ALOT of bologna to be buying and believe me, I know all about buying bologna. I have that market cornered.

Don’t think if I had all those kids that I couldn’t get my own reality show. Hell, I could get one with the two kids I got ’cause they are wild and they make me mental. Who wouldn’t want to see that hot mess on TV?

I know it’s the new year and I’m supposed to evaluate my life and make resolutions of all the things I want to accomplish over the next 365 days. But we all know how that’s gonna end. I won’t do any of it. I’ll feel guilty about it and it will make me more grumpier than I already am. And I don’t need any help in the grumpy area. Just ask Rico.

So, I thought I would figure out all the bone headed things I did last year and vow not to repeat them.

1. I will not dye my hair red. Nor, will I cut it all off when the “oh crap, I look like a corpse with red hair” shock kicks in. I will not bleach it back and turn my hair into a bad scarecrow wig. I will not ignore my friends who say, “Don’t do it dumb ass.”

2. I will not get my feelings hurt when mentally challenged kids take one look at me and declare I am “one hot mess.” 

3. I will not miss out on the Waffle House Romantic Redneck Valentine’s dinner. Yes, I will be partaking in some scattered, smothered, covered, diced, capped hash brown ambrosia. Nothing says love like eating enough grease to cause a coronary.

4. I will not be sasshaying across the floor during a construction job and almost cut my coochie off. Because I really need my coochie. Enough said.

5. I will not lease another vehicle this year or as long as I live. Especially when the vehicle gives me delusions of grandeur of being a sheik. Besides, all that sand has to eventually end up in your shorts.

6. I will not let my husband buy work vehicles without me and risk us all dying of tetanus.

7. I will not forget to take some Valium before I go to church with the kids on Easter Sunday.

8. I will not be boastful about my lawn mower.

9. I will not get road rage in Alabama.

10. I will not be a “bitch.”

Thanks for a great year peeps!

Yesterday my mom picked up my two girls and left me home alone. And then Rico worked late and left me home alone. Then I ran around the house jumping up and down, yelling and screaming until I fell in a heap of exhaustion on my dirty floor.

For all you parents out there that wonder what they will do with yourselves after your children are grown and out of the house, I can’t relate to you. I will have no problem entertaining myself come 15 years from now. My life will be full and fun and rested.

Here is a rundown of the things I did over the last 24 hours…

1. Started a load of laundry in both washers yesterday at noon. They are still sitting there and will continue to stay there until I am forced to become responsible again.

2. Gotten bedsores on my backside from lying in bed watching Everyone Loves Raymond reruns. And Housewives of Orange County. And Antiques Roadshow. And all sorts of gossip filled news shows outing the latest Tiger Ho.

3. Didn’t act as a short order cook for dinner but fixed bacon and egg sandwiches for dinner because that’s what I wanted. No macaroni and cheese. No Hamburger Helper. No bologna sandwiches.

4. Never poured a single glass of Kool Aid. No hunting the house over for someones lost sippy cup. No cleaning up spilt tea off the floor. Only drinking highly caffeinated sugar filled soft drinks that make me pee all night long.

5. Never wiped anyone’s butt. Wait a minute, I wiped my own but that doesn’t count.

6. Took a shower by myself. Soaked in the garden tub by myself. Didn’t step or sit on toys in either instance. Took a shower with my husband without the threat of prying eyes. In case you didn’t notice, I like to be clean and to conserve water by bathing together. It’s not easy being green.

7. Slept until 9:30 this morning without interruption. Need I say more?

8. Slept naked in bed without someone asking why I don’t have clothes on. Funny how Rico never asks that question.

9. Ate a whole bowl of homemade fudge without sharing and NOT feeling guilty.

10. Thinking I could get used to this way of life but admitting to myself that it was a little lonely.

Merry Christmas from our family to yours!!

Today we ventured out of Hooterville to enjoy a little culture. 

The Kentucky Repertory Theatre has provided quality, professional theatre, particularly for the citizens of Southern Kentucky, by presenting a repertory of works from the best of our theatrical heritage and by developing plays by Kentucky playwrights since 1978. It’s such a wonderful addition to our community.

Robert Brock, their theatre director, was my college theatre professor and has one of the most enjoyable classes on campus. (Holla Mr. Brock!!!)

Anyhoo, today was special in the fact that it was Ella’s first theatrical experience and I was very nervous on how she would do. Thankfully it was a comedy, Christmas Belles.

The first half of the play was wonderful. Ella sat mesmerized by the actors, the lights, the comedy. Other than a few squirmy moments, she was fantastic.

Shortly after intermission, she got up in my lap, cuddled close, and hugged my neck so sweetly. Ahhh, my sweet baby girl.

Next thing I know, she started blowing the ass trumpet like Louis Armstrong. I’m not talking about a squeaker. I’m talking about one of those farts that rival a quarry blast.

To top it off, it was during one of those quiet moments of the play.

God is funny like that.

And because I wasn’t embarrassed enough, she starts asking loudly, “Momma, you smell something? MOMMA…MOMMA…YOU SMELL SOMETHING???”

I’m raising such a classy girl.

Once upon a time, I was a picky eater. I would snub my nose at all kinds of food and talk myself into not liking them. I was so young, so dumb and so worried about the size of my buttocks.

Why does that word always remind me of Forrest Gump?

Anyhoo, how things have changed.

Many Christmases ago, I worked with a lady who had moved to our small little town from New York and she was always baking wonderful, sinful things and bringing them into work for us all to enjoy. One day, she brought cheesecake. I didn’t like cheesecake. I had convinced myself that cheesecake was yucky and nasty and evil. But she made me try it and my buttocks has never been the same.

Ella and I have been making a few to share with friends for the holidays. She is the official egg breaker.

Because it’s the holidays, I will share with you her recipe. It is wonderful and great and full of calories.

The best things in life are always full of calories.

NEW YORK CHEESECAKE

Crust:

1 7/8 cups of ground graham cracker crumbs (about 1 1/2 packages)

1 stick of butter, melted

4 1/2 Tbsp sugar

In a food processor, crumble graham crackers. Add melted butter and sugar and mix well. Pat into sides and bottom of spring pan. Place in freezer to chill.

Cake:

5 8oz. cream cheese, softened

1 tsp vanilla

2 tsp lemon juice

1 1/3 cup sugar

3 Tbsp flour

1/4 tsp salt

6 eggs

1/2 cup heavy cream

In stand mixer, beat cream cheese about 5 minutes. Add vanilla and lemon and mix until fluffy. In a separate bowl, combine flour, sugar and salt. Combine. Turn mixer on low and gradually blend flour mixture into cream cheese. Add eggs one at a time, mixing each well.

Remove bowl from mixer and add heavy cream, mixing gently by hand.

Pour into crust.

Bake 5 to 8 minutes at 500 degrees or until edges are golden brown. Turn down oven to 350 degrees and continue to bake for 1 hour. Be sure not to open the oven as cheesecake will collapse.

Cool in spring pan for an hour or more and then remove sides.

Enjoy and eat the whole thing yourself.

I am the laid back parent.

The one who lets things slide.

The fun parent.

The one who lets the kids pick out their own hideous outfits and lets them wear them in public. The one who raps Flo-rida in the grocery store to embarrass her kids. And sings Andrea Bocelli at the top of her lungs while dropping the oldest off at school.

She loves when I do that…

Fifth graders don’t appreciate opera.

My husband is the disciplinarian.

He makes the kids tow the line. Makes them dress appropriately.

The one who is always saying to me, “Why did you let them do that?”

So it ’twas with much delight that my husband made a bone headed move. A move that required sirens. And hot firemen. And lots of hysterical laughing from me.

While at the beach, my “I was on the National Problem Solving Team” husband decided we should take the girls out for a ride. We dressed appropriately and packed all necessary items (cause he’s anal like that) and took off.

First stop, the condo elevator.

Once inside, he got the bright idea to start jumping. In the elevator. With me and the kids.

Duh.

And then it stopped….in between floors.

Big Duh.

And the doors wouldn’t open and he had to push this little red button.

Super Duh.

And the firemen of the Gulf Shores Fire Department had to come rescue us…

in…

a…

FIRETRUCK.

Super Duper Duh.

And as the nice fireman were getting us out, my eleven year old says to Rico…

“You’re not supposed to jump in elevators. They’ll get stuck.”

Gas to Gulf Shores:   $200

Blackberry with camera to capture the evidence:     $400

Having your husband finally make a stupid parent move:    PRICELESS!

Living in the country has it’s perks.

I don’t have to close my blinds when I change my clothes. I can burn crap in my yard.

I can even shuck my shorts and pee in my backyard.

Not that I would do anything like that cause I’m a lady and all…but I could if I wanted too.

However, living in the country has it’s downfalls and you can run into the majority of them in one November week.

Like snakes…

Yes, people. A snake…in November. Is it ever safe?

This made me pee on myself in the backyard.

This is one of the reasons I married my husband. ‘Cause he ain’t afraid of snakes.

And I am afraid of snakes.

The other reasons I married my husband are:

1. Parallel parking.

2. Killing wasps.

3. Sex.

And for those times when I go out to feed the farm cats in my screened in porch during the wee hours of the night and scream hysterically, he comes running with a flashlight.

And when he hollers for a gun and I bring a pistol, he doesn’t laugh but patiently explains which rifle he needs…

So he can shoot a rabies infested critter in my porch without shooting the gas grill tank and blowing up our house…

Yes, I married him because he’s a sharp shooter who can kill raccoons on my porch.

There, I said it.

And because he will clean up all this after the massacre…

He married me ’cause I’m FABULOUS.

DISCLAIMER: IF I AM YOUR CHILD OR MARRIED INTO YOUR FAMILY, THE FOLLOWING POST MAY BE TOO EMBARRASSING FOR YOU TO READ. IF YOU CHOOSE TO CONTINUE, PLEASE DO SO AT YOUR OWN RISK OF EMBARRASSMENT.

MY MOTHER READ THIS IN ADVANCE AND ASK THAT I NEVER REVEAL HER IDENTITY OR WHEREABOUTS.

So, I know it’s been awhile since I’ve graced your presence with my witty nonsense. It’s not that there’s not been anything to share, I mean I have been out to eat at on old elementary school that has been converted to a restaurant AND consignment store…that also included live entertainment by a one arm country singer…it’s just that I’ve been somewhat under the weather.

However, this tidbit is simply to good to pass up.

Last year for Christmas I was gifted with a gift certificate for some laser hair removal treatments and because I am a grateful person, I decided I needed to partake in this thoughtful gift…because if someone wants me to be less hairy, then maybe I should take the hint.

Anyhoo, the laser hair removal package consists of 5 treatments that all have to be used within a year’s time. After much consideration, I decided having my bikini area treated would be my best bet seeing as I go to the beach alot and shaving down there really is a pain in the…well, you get the idea.

Earlier in the year, I had the first three treatments completed and the experience was tolerable. It wasn’t something I would want to do everyday but in the bigger picture of things, it wasn’t that bad.

But the thing about laser hair removal is that with each treatment, the laser gets more intense.

Moving right along to last Wednesday when I scheduled my fourth treatment.

One on hand, it was a beautiful day. 70 degrees. Sunshine. Three hours without my children. HOLLA!

On the other hand, I have to get completely naked from the waist down and lay frozen peas on my nethers for 15 minutes to numb my skin.

So far…so good.

Next the aesthetician puts freezing cold jelly on my hoo-haa with a tongue depressor and engages me in senseless small talk.

Still…no kids for three hours. Not that bad.

Then she explains to me that they will increase the laser for this treatment and it may be a little “hot” and just to let her know if it’s too much for me to handle.

“OK, but I had my last baby without anything…I think I can handle a little laser….”

Zap…Zap…ZAP…ZAP…ZAP…ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!

Holy Ritz Cracker.

My lady envelope got hot…and not in a good way.

This was hot…like frying bacon in a cast iron skillet hot. Like jalapenos in your eyes hot. Like snorting Frank’s Red Hot.

No wonder hair won’t grow down there cause there’s no freaking skin left.

I mean, it got to the point that  I could no longer take it and I ask her to stop and she just giggled and said, “I’m almost done.”  Really, like I care at this point if I have hair on my poochie poochie.

Upon leaving, I texted Rico and said: It is on fiiiiiirrrrrreeeeee. Sweet Jesus. I dun burnd my lips off….ohmygaaaaa!!!!

His reply, “I will be home tomorrow. It better be working.”

Dear Ella,

Happy Birthday Love.

I can’t believe you’re three.

Wait, yes I can. I haven’t slept for three years.

For the last 1,095 nights I have been up and down, kicked and thrashed. I have been flooded with pee. I have run up and down the steps all hours of the night getting you bologna…peperoni’s….Kool-Aid….ANYTHING that might give me twenty more minutes of precious sleep.

Dazed, confused and waking up with dried pepperoni’s stuck to my head. You never gave in, all those nights, seeing me suffer. 

Then I finally said to myself, “You know what, she may never sleep all night. She may never sleep in her own bed but at least I’ll know if she’s late for curfew when she comes home from a date…AND IT’S OK. IT DOESN’T MAKE ME A BAD MOTHER!”

I’ll give it to ya kid, you’ve got stamina.

A week after your third birthday, you decided I’d been punished enough. You slept all night in your own bed. 10 WHOLE HOURS.

Now that we know you can do it, if you don’t repeat it again tonight we’re gonna duct tape you to the bed.

Happy Birthday Chicken Little

Love,

Mom

My husband loves me.

Really, really loves me.

But sometimes he does stupid things.

Really, really stupid things.

Like last week when I was getting out of the shower. He thought it’d be cute to play Playboy photographer and take some pictures of his smokin’ hot wife.

Well, he had his five minutes of fun and then my dimpled ass was to be deleted.

Cut to this weekend. Ella’s birthday party with the whole family.

My mom arrived and I was so excited to show her pictures from the costume party the night before. I whipped out my camera and she and my father in law gathered around. I pushed the button on the camera to find the costume pictures and it was soooo slow that I decided to keep pushing it more and more and more….until it got stuck.

When it finally stopped, there in all my glory was my big ol’ BADONKADONK.

Not only did I show my mother the naughty picture taken by my super genius husband but I also flashed my father in law the junk in my trunk.

Oh, yeah. I did.

His only response, “That’s why you should never get your pictures developed at Walmart.”

Point taken.