Just like her mudder.

GiGi was *real* hung up on impressing me yesterday afternoon, and made sure that happened. The bus driver stopped the bus and got out, smiling, just to tell me something about my girl. By this time I was beaming from ear to ear, imagining my child coming to the rescue and administering mouth-to-mouth to save a child's life, or protecting fellow students from an attacker. Nay, this was *not* the case.

My 6-year old ball of *pure* sunshine, Gracelyn, flipped off each and *every* child that passed her while getting off the bus yesterday. She's the last one off, so she made *quite* the impression. My child isn't greedy (ha!), and proceeded to share her love of the bird with them all. Hey - at *least* I get a point for teaching her to treat everyone as equals.

Lest you forget this very child impressed the masses her first time telling a Bible story - her version of Mary and Martha meeting with Jesus. She was only 3 and had just come home from her 1st night of Vacation Bible School. It went a little somethin' like this:

Mary and Martha were happy because Jesus was coming over for dinner. Martha was running around crazy, cooking and cleaning, and got mad because she couldn't find Mary anywhere! She opened the door, and there was Mary, sitting on the floor at Jesus' feet - and Martha said, "Mary, what the *hell* is going on here?!"

You don't get that kind of education from just anywhere, people. Recognize.

If I get a deer-kick to the teeth - I'll have hoof in mouth.

It’s not at *all* unusual (read: highly unlikely) to drive up and see Byron sitting outside with the kids, but this time? It was *slightly* funny, considering the fact he was out with Duke, who was only wearing shorts….with a temperature of 51 degrees. Well, *Duke* didn’t have a 51 degree temperature, but he was *outside*, and it was 51 degrees out there. I digress. Did I mention this was less than 24 hours after Duke was sent home from school, with fever, and projectile vomiting? Duke didn’t seem to care, and besides….as Byron pointed out, they *were* sitting in the sun.

Last weekend we attempted some fun here and there. Do you know what’s fun and is *free*?! A playpen! Or seems like it’s called something else these days, but after 4 kids, I can’t recall. You say tomato, I say…the grossest food ever unless it’s in soup or ketchup. Violet and Duke played a good hour or more on in, in it, around it, hanging and flipping off it, climbing it, and so on….*and* although I can’t say we came away injury free, there were *NO* trips to the hospital! Score 1 Ashley!!!!

We also attempted to do Chuck E. Cheese for the 2nd time this year. Don’t think we’ll be headed back anytime soon. Oh the happy memories from days of yore at the Mouse House: from the time I puked the *entire* way home – out the window – with Q and friends in the backseat; to the time Violet puked all over the table *and* me – right beside some family who just had their pizza served, *and* I had to de-pant myself right on Loop 281; to this visit, when I did the unthinkable, and attempted entering the depths of hell with 3 of my kids – aged 6 and under. Wrong. Duke got lost, fell backwards off the tricycle to the ceiling, and was rescued by an anonymous do-gooder. The suck-bag grandpa who *LET* Duke fall, and didn’t even *ATTEMPT* to get him off before he fell – while his *OWN* granddaughter was on the damn thing – should be *awful* glad I took a double-dose of Depakote that day. Duke did have fun before the unfortunate accident, and was absolutely obsessed with riding in the car with the mouse.

The Duke decided to get a bit more attention later on. He was feeling neglected because his sisters were playing princess makeover. All was quiet in the house for 15 minutes, and that’s when you know it’s gonna fall apart…when everything *seems* fine. Apparently Violet resorted to getting Duke out of their room by giving him some purple mascara. At least he figured out it’s supposed to go on the face…….and I've decided to consider tasting it myself. I do *loooooove* to eat icing, and It *does* have the look of purple icing, no?

Mummies in the house!!

I was nearly *certain* I’d made an exciting archaeological discovery a few days ago.

The girls were climbing in bed, getting ready to call it a night, when Violet got mad (imagine!) and threw one of her stuffed animals at the wall. I had to run for a Xanax when I saw Gracelyn *VOLUNTEER* to try to get it...for her sister! She couldn’t manage to reach it, so she asked me to do it. I tried and tried with the gimp arm with no success, so I got a flashlight. What I saw next made me reach for another Xanax (sweet joy!). It was....a rib cage! All sinewy, red, brown, streaks of tan...about the size of....the cats.

A thousand thoughts flew through my head all at once: Was this the cat that disappeared last summer? Did this rib-cage belong to one of the ghosts in my house? Wouldn’t a 3rd-time boob job be the charm? How do people get discombobulated? Have you ever seen someone who was combobulated?

Alas, I realized it wasn’t any of those things, but instead a rack of ribs from our last barbeque. Wait a minute...when was our last barbeque? Labor Day? Surely not...4th of July. Ha. Yep! On the 4th of July, we had a bunch of friends over, and one of ‘em volunteered for rib duty.

The only logical conclusion I’ve come to is that my kids have *finally* realized that I? Am *not* a cooker (as Gracelyn calls it) and took the ribs for possible future use.

I wanted to get a photo of ‘em, and haven’t had time yet – so you’ll be relieved to learn they’re in a safe and protected environment, behind the dresser.

Don’t judge me. I’m gonna put ‘em in a jar with formaldehyde for the Halloween party Friday.

Battle o' the Pine - Part Deux

Disclaimer #1: I have *no* idea what in the ever-loving monkey-piss is wrong with this blog. Every time I put my pics in, it removes formatting...if I re-do, everything gets jacked up all over again. This lame-o computer will NOT win the battle....so if this post looks jacked up for a while, it's a computer conspiracy.


Disclaimer #2: I am *way* behind on the blog. I'm always behind, but even for me...I'm way, *way* behind. I just seem to get all my good ideas in the day, when blood is still flowing through my brain, but I don't usually get to write 'til the evening, because...well, just because of normal insanity. Just take a pill, smile, and pretend like you like it. Or else.

I can dance and slide across the kitchen floor *insanely* well…. until I eat the side of the refrigerator… with the back of my head… after an attempted tap-dancing-burlesque-lindy-hop move. I *totally* had it going on for a second there. My compliments to So You Think You Can Dance, Dancing With the Stars, and good genetics.

I’m almost certain my most recent bout of insanity began when I threw the universe itself into shock. I’ll have you know I cooked – like *three* nights, in a R.O.W. Yes, go ahead…take a minute to collect yourself. I *practically* made filet mignon with a hollandaise sauce, but for the sake of being humble, we pretended it was Hamburger Helper Beef Stroganoff and Chicken Teriyaki. You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to.

Note to self: Get Duke a helmet. The boy falls on the ground and throws his head back at a moment’s notice. Because I’m a concerned (read: selfish) parent, the only plastic surgery I care to pay for is for myself. I digress.

Last week was straight out of a horror movie. Maybe a horror-comedy. Hell, nearly *every* day is a horror-comedy movie for me.

We were fortunate enough for Byron to start his new job that Monday, and the sky was full of sunbeams, sparkles, rainbows and butterflies. And rabid demon bats. I only *thought* things were stressful after dropping the 2 younger heathens off at their new school. >> Obligatory 1st day of school pictures with the “look how happy we can pretend to be if Mom bribes us with candy and trips to the pet store” smile >>




That night, Gracelyn decided to start coughing up her lung, spleen, entrails and whatnot – so I gave her some of Dimetapp, played reruns of Dancing With the Stars, and got some hilarious video of her dancing right along. She’s got her mother’s mad skillz, yo. *Mad* skillz. I was up *all* night with her.




Tuesday I was dragging, even with my super shots’o’bat piss (5 hour energy drink). I had been joking about the fact that the 1 year anniversary of the Attack of the Pine Tree was coming up.

The next morning I was determined to be on-time, with a plan, on-schedule – everything I’m usually not. Just remember when things seem too good to be true, that’s probably the case. *Apparently* the pine tree family still had pent up anger issues from last year, and just after I uttered the words, “Quentin – call DeeDee – because I don’t need to talk on the cell phone while I’m driving”, the pine tree’s Dad spit on the road, made a tire slip in the mud, and our van spun around and ate pine again. What. The. Hell.


Fortunately this time didn’t involve me being carted away by ambulance, with my life (and arm) hanging by a thread. Ha. Everyone *still* had to go to school and work. Even Quentin, with his 5 bazillion self-portraits on my camera and phone. No breaks in *this* bid’ness.


Thursday *had* to be better, but no, no, no. Why ruin a perfectly bad week by making it better? Not in *this* household, no sir. After Violet ran to the bathroom a good 20 times before we left for school, I decided to take some pee to the doctor for a test, and voila! Yet *another* UTI for VioleNt. Oh, what’s that? Only 50 pair of underwear in a day, *and* a bazillion dollar antibiotics?

Puh-leese. Thursday wasn’t through was us. About 20 minutes after I left home, Byron called with a message. Funny enough, his car would only go in reverse. I explained how if he were *truly* dedicated to his new job, he’d drive 30+ miles in reverse, no big deal. Good thing for him I’m practically a saint, so I turned back around and took him to work. We found out a few days later all his car issues were due to his *hospitable* introduction of this unfortunate hog to the after-life via the Corolla.


I have to go. Byron has officially scared the piss out of me. The man? Knows the lyrics to Laverne & Shirley, and is belting them out, with the show. He. Is. Somethin’.

Side note: The wreck this year happened on the 1-year anniversary of last year's wreck. I also ran my mom's car off a small bridge when I was 16, which *also* happened in October. If any of you kind, generous people would like to start a fund, where I can stay at home the entire month of October 2011, you'd likely be protecting humans all over the earth. Just sayin'.

They Only *Look* Like Angels

All I wanted to do was take a nap while the girls sat beside me watching Strawberry Shortcake. All I ended *up* doing, was taking a nap, so as to give our *helpful* children (read: destructive fruit of my womb) time to demolish the house. In less than 30 minutes, they managed to:

Convince our color TV he had warped back to the 50’s, so he was all ‘I’m going back to black and white. Besides, black is slimming.’

Let our antique hutch in on the secret that *everyone* wears stuff faded these days. *Usually* in the middle. *Especially* in ginormous Jupiter-sized rings.

Pack the iPhone charger with so much green ‘stuff’ that she acts like she’s never even *seen* the iPhone before. They’ve been together since last year!!!!! Huzzy.

It’s a good day when September 18th rolls around, and for worthwhile reasons, I’ll be taking it *all* off, by being brave, and getting bald. You should too. Don’t make me sic my kids on you, because I will *so* do it.

Visit http://www.stbaldricks.org/ & www.stbaldricks.org/events/easttexas NOW. Please. :)

I once was blind, but now I see!

The trouble with waiting a coon’s age to write between blog entries, is forgetting all the insanity that happens. I’ve sat here on the couch for the last hour trying to recall everything, and let’s face it…I might as well be trying to fit in size 6 britches: with some friends, duct tape, butter, and the help of the Good Lord, it just *might* happen.

The most recent mayhem ensued when I had temporary blindness. At the immediate time, it wasn’t funny….but it’s *slightly* funny now that I think about it, and know for a fact I’m not going blind. I wear contacts, and for the last few days my eyes were burning, watering, and light-sensitive. Three days ago I was hit with the ingenious idea to do something radical…and take them out. When I took them out I was surprised it didn’t solve the problem, but instead got worse. By the time I left work Thursday afternoon, they were hurtin’ pretty good.

I drove to Planet Beach to get my fake tan, and the pain was getting worse. The important thing about a Mystic Tan is that you don’t get wet for at least 6 hours afterwards, and preferably overnight. I damn near started a new trend when my eyes started pouring water, making white streaks down my face, where the tears were washing the tan-stuff away. Had I not wiped my face off with a wet towel, I’d still be sporting a Tony the Tiger look today.

I tried to wait at the salon for a bit to see if sitting in a dark room, with sunglasses on, would help. Nope. It was worse. Eventually reinforcements were called in. About 30 minutes later my Mom picked me up from the salon, and took me straight to the ER. There’s no need to remind you how smart of an individual I can be, at times, so I was *certain* I was going blind. I couldn’t open them, unless they were pulled open….and even then I couldn’t see.

I’m a person that uses humor (hey, at least *I* think I’m funny, and since *I’m* the only person that knows anything, I’m right) to diffuse any situation. This time was no different. About the time I said something to my mother about hoping I had a hot doctor…and then becoming disappointed when I realized it was pointless since I wouldn’t be able to see him…I heard a voice say, “Hi. I’m Dr. Klingenberg. You’re husband is Byron?” I just *ass*umed he read that on my chart. A short time later I learned he’s one of Byron’s students from jiu-jitsu! Lovely. Already made a large ass of myself (for pain-related reasons, and from my natural personality) to find out he’s friends with my husband. Fortunately if I see him out in public I won’t recognize him, since I *still* don’t know what he looks like. On a side note I had the best nurse EVAH…who happens to be dating a guy I go to church with, and we’re all friends. It? Was wondrous.

We got down to the eye bid’ness, and numerous fun things started up – like putting lemon juice in my eyes. Okay, so it *may* not have been lemon juice, but it *totally* felt that way. I had all sorts of eye exams, and the last one was the best. It included putting rubbery extra-large contact-ey-thingies (yes, Know-it-all, that *is* the correct technical term) that were connected to bags of saline, and I had 1 liter of saline flushed over each eye.

That was extra fun because it soaked my entire shirt with saline was as well, so I? Was stylin’ *and* profiling in my *favorite* red heels, best jeans, and? A hospital gown.

After numerous tests, medications, and papers, I was released with instructions to see an Ophthalmologist the next day.

I should add that – as noted above – I was wearing my favorite red rockin’ modern-Dorothy shoes by a *fab’lous* Mr. Giani Bini. I honestly got more compliments on those shoes, from people of ALL walks of life, that night, than I’ve gotten in Y.E.A.R.S. You need some too. I’m just sayin’.

Long, long, long, long, LONG story shorter. I saw the professional-eye-dude the next day.

Diagnosis? When I recently put in new contacts, I had an allergic reaction. This caused rough bumps to form on the underside of each eyelid. Not knowing this, I took the contacts out to make things more comfortable. It *actually* made it worse, because then the bumps scratched the corneas on each eye. The scratches got infected, and voila! Eye issues.

The eyes are on the mend now, with a few different meds, and I’m doing good…and now, a few thank-you’s:

Thank you Mom, Planet Beach people, Dr. Klingenberg, Carol’s Carol, everyone else, and most importantly:

Thank you Lord Jesus for helpin’ me out, again, even though I *totally* don’t deserve it. Thanks for showin’ me that ghetto-fab’lous AWESOME double-rainbow the day before, and letting me keep my sight. I once was blind, but now? I see, yo’.

Can I get an AMEN?! And now, some double-rainbow pics and videos for your viewing pleasure.

Lame-o Chick I will *so* not like for *forever*

The other day I was sittin’ in the salon, getting my purple fabulosity put in. I was flipping through a Maxim men’s magazine. Very interesting and funny stuff in there, and as expected, lots of girls.

There was 1 section on a lame-o smelly pirate hooker named Aryanni. She’s a stupid UFC Octagon girl. I would so smack her teeth on the octagon. Anywho, I turned the pages to see her stats (she might as well be 13, like *negative* 5 foot, 4 pounds, ridiculous business) and low and behold that huzzy had the *gumption* to be frolicking in the flippin’ grass, in just a pair of panties by Honeydew.

How, you ask, did I know the designer of the fab little panties? Because. I own them. I may have looked like Ary-puky-anni in the 5th grade, but alas…not now.

I’m dieting now…on Dr. Pepper and lemonheads.

A bunch'a (un)important crap.

I just overheard Gracelyn saying, "I’m gonna tell you for the *last* time, Violet! You don’t say it like “damn it, shoot”, you just say *damn it*"!!!!

Are the cattle driven to have relations when they’re directly in front my glass door? Bunch’a flipping exhibitionists. I don’t drive out in the middle of them in the pasture and have relations where *they* can see. Okay, so maybe I did *one* time, after going to the Jaycee’s Haunted House in Tyler when Byron and I were 19-ish, but they *so* weren’t the same cows!!

There’s an electric fence out away from our house, in the pasture by the pond. We use it when the cows are in the pasture by the pond, so they’re not gator bait. The kids know they’re not allowed to go by the pond outside, and our house alarm even beeps every time a door is open or closed, so we know when they go out. Long story short, the girls were playing out in the yard, in front of the same glass door the cows had relations by. Violet ran towards the pond, with me yelling, “Violet, stop! Do *not* run to the pond! The fence is on! You’re gonna get shocked! Violet!!!!” ZAP. Well, so much for that. Don’t get all huffy with me, it’s not that strong, and didn’t even leave a red mark on her hands. Not even an hour later, Quentin set his gun on it to aim better. ZAP again. Moron. Wasn’t supposed to be shooting *towards* the cows in the first place.
Hmmm….what else.

OH! I got supah-fab’lous new purple hair, and I’m rocking it *all* up in your business. The countdown to September 18th bald-dom is *on* like donkey kong, and if you haven’t signed up to brave the shave and conquer kids cancer, we will *have* words. Go sign up. Now. Or else. http://www.stbaldricks.org/events/easttexas or if you live further away, find another event (they’re world-wide!) at http://www.stbaldricks.org .

One last funny thing to mention. Quentin is 14, and *way* too involved in thinking about girls. He’s been dating a girl for a few months now, and I found out they had their first kiss a few weeks ago. Since then kissing has been in high demand, from what I gather. Quentin told me recently that they were “like, you know, making out”. Hmph. I asked him what the definition of making out was. He was all “Whatever Mom. You are *so* lame. You know!” I’m figuring it’s still the same ol’ business….kissing, hugging, basic making out. A bit later I got a text message that said “consecutive kissing with occasional tongue”. Oh I laughed and laughed. I told Quentin that while I *did* appreciate his use of 2 large words, I’d prefer that he find something more productive to do. Not productive like making trouble, or babies…but productive like reading.

Holy. Piss. I just did the *longest* most *best* burp ever! Guess you’d have to be here.

The shovel did it!

I’ve always been a sucker for animals. Like to play with ‘em, eat ‘em…they’re just all around good things to have on hand.

Recently Gracelyn’s school raised baby chicks from wee eggs, and we ended up adopting 2 of ‘em. Did we *have* to adopt them? Puh-leese. The biddies looked at me with big doe chicken eyes, and cheeped, “Pick me! Take me home to be tortured by your heathen spawn, let your dog maul me in a game of chase, and then cut my head off with a shovel, please! Me, me, me!!!!” Okay, so maybe they didn’t say the part about the dog chasing them (who are we kidding, there was never a chase when it started and ended in the dog’s mouth), but you get the vibe. They *had* to live with us.

Fast forward to a week later. Violet decided the biddies needed to stretch their legs, so to speak, and let one down on the ground outside. Next thing I know, Gracelyn busts through the door screaming that a chicken is dying. I go outside to find the biddy by a tree, all lopsided and obviously sporting new body shades...the color purple, ha! It really *was* sad for a few minutes. It was not long for this world, and I didn’t want it to suffer, so I cut his head off. Sucker. Kidding! Sort of. About the sucker part.

Its eyes were closed, but it was still breathing. I thought I’d put it in a small box in a safe place so it could at least die without kids and dogs trying to poke/chew it (Duke tried to bite the biddies heads off the first day…little Ozzy). When I tried to pick it up, it cheeped like “sucka, I would *so* peck you in the eye and flog you in your uvula if I could” and I was all “Piss. This sucks.”

It closed its eyes again, and I waited for it to die for a good 2 minutes. It didn’t happen. I thought maybe I could, um, suffocate it (oh, I feel *so* bad even typing that) if I just held it’s beak-hole shut. It seemed like it was going well, until it’s eyes flew open and it struggled and I just couldn’t do it. It was a flipping baby biddy, suckas!

I asked Byron for a gun, to blow it into oblivion, but he wouldn’t load it for me. I told him to kill it, and he refused to hurt an animal, especially a baby one, and that it was *all* my fault for adopting them in the first place. What a flipping girl.

In the end, it was the flat shovel. I held it above the neck with, asked the good Lord to forgive me, and slammed it down with my foot. Done. And then I remembered (from my childhood), when you cut a chicken’s head off, they run.,,, except this one just turned in circles. He was *slightly* handicapped. Then I laughed.

Obviously God has a sense of humor, because that? Was funny stuff.

On another note... Did you know if you spit on an electric fence and the spit hits the wire, at the same time you realize it's still falling from your lip, you get electrocuted? Well, now you do. But that story's for next time.

I knew you (pretended to) missed me!

I? Am supah-ghetto-fab’lous, and *apparently* my fabulosity ‘twas heard all about the world, and they were all Ex-*cuse* MEH? You *have* to be our employee, and I? Was all sho’nuff.

More easily explained? I’m the newest lucky employee of Hudson Printing. I temp’ed for them for 60 days, and finally started all official-like this Monday. So far, so good. I haven’t dreading going to work so that’s a promising sign. Everyone has been very nice and helpful, so I’m hoping I’ll get to stick around for a while.

Oh-holy-piss, you do *not* even know my business. As you already know (or maybe you don’t, because you’re lame – isn’t there some artsy-craftsy stuff called lame? Like la’me? La-may?) that I’m a *slight* fan of tattoos. I had 2 older ones on my shoulder blades: a stupid peach that said “Peachy” (Honestly. Am I ever peachy about anything?) and a gecko that was pretty for a few days – until I sunburned it into oblivion a week later. Anywho, I had them both covered up with some pretty lilies to match Byron’s name, and the fleur-de-lis in the middle of my back. LARGE-like thanks to Nikki at Garage Art Studio in Longview, for drawing it up, and putting it on.

Since we last talked Palm Sunday and Easter flew by, and we had a *grand* time with family.

This? Is what Quentin looks like on damn near *any* given day. I think he’s attempting an “I’m-so-cool-I-just-happen-to-be-caught-off-guard-and-still-manage-to-look-this-awesome look, but I’m not buying in to it. I’m his mother, and that ol’ dog won’t hunt.

Hmmm…what else, what else, what else? I’m drawing a blank. Guess it’s time to call it quits for this evening, but maybe you fine people can inspire me with something. Or maybe you’re just boring and lame, and will inspire me to sleep. Now *that’s* an idea I’m feelin’ fond of about now.

Good ol' Family Pictures

We had an appointment yesterday to have our family pictures taken. Sounds easy enough, right? NEVAH!!

This *is* the Hast Family, if you recall. Let me preface this by saying these are not just *any* old pictures. We haven’t had a family portrait since only having 2 children. We were long overdue. I couldn’t use just any old photographer, and they couldn’t just be any old photos, so we went with the best: Jennifer Weintraub of Sugar Photography. http://www.sugar-photography.com

Because we were scheduled to shoot in Deep Ellum (in downtown Dallas), we drove up the night before to stay with Jackie and family. I woke up in the middle of the night and checked the weather. Since it was going to be a bit cooler than I had planned for (only 51 at 9 a.m.) I decided to take a 2 a.m. trip to Walmart for necessities. I got coordinating hoodies for the girls, and then realized that *somehow* Violet had made it to Dallas with NO shoes…or rather, her sister’s shoes that were 4 sizes too big. I went head and bought some pink converse shoes for her, and headed back home.

The next morning we were up and at ‘em early, getting everyone bathed and ready to go. I probably don’t need to tell you we were running late. About 30 minutes before we left, Duke was WALKING around upstairs (he can walk now!! Not a pro, really, but he’s doing it.) when he reached out for the railing of the stairs. Guess it was a bit too far, and he ended up falling over, managing to hit his forehead. Now he was sporting a nice red head, which was expected for our pics. What’s a good family picture without injury?

Could that be *all* that happened before leaving? Hell no. Jackie’s dining room ceiling started pouring water after we’d all had showers. I *know* she was more than impressed, especially since she’s having Natalie’s birthday party next weekend at home.

We finally got around to making our first attempt to leave. I was loading things into the car, and kids were running around outside. I told Quentin to pick up Duke and bring him to the car. Apparently he didn’t hear me, so Duke walked out the door unassisted, with Freak-O Ken walking behind him. Ken is a moron and figured Duke could take a cement step alone, and next thing I know, Duke is eating cement. He’s screaming, Byron picks him up, and wouldn’t you know….a *lovely* busted top lip, all swollen, and bleeding on his new shirt. The picture shirt. FIGURES!!!!

We make our 2nd attempt to leave after cleaning him up, get halfway down the road, and realized Violet didn’t have her shoes. After lots of cussing and looking, we couldn’t find the new shoes I bought just hours before. We had to end up letting her wear Gracelyn’s extra pair of hot pink tennis shoes, which matched perfectly, except they looked like clown shoes on Violet. Oh well, we belong in a circus anyhow. (I’m quite certain that while reading this, you just nodded your head in agreement. Suck it.)

Only 15 minutes late, we finally met the photographer of our dreams !! I’m *not* kidding…you *have* to book her. In countless months and hours on the internet, researching, no one else’s work is even comparable to hers. Fa’real yo. Book her or I’ll hunt you down, like the dogs that you are, and slap your teeth out….or something like that. We weren’t ever posed like you’d expect at Olan Mills, Sears, etc. Instead we played, laughed, hugged, kissed, walked, and spun around, and she caught it all on film. Absolutely priceless!!!!

Duke, the hap-hap-happiest baby I’ve ever had, was still pissed about the lip-bid’ness. He decided to show just how unhappy he could be. Violet and Gracelyn acted like usual, and didn’t listen to anything anyone asked them to do. Quentin was his normal supah-cool self, getting confused with his sheepdog alter-ego, with hair in his eyes. By the time we got to the 3rd location Duke finally perked up, and was generally happy. Craziness included, we had a great time!

I absolutely cannot wait to see the pictures!!! Jennifer was nice enough to give us a sneak-peek and I was *very* pleased. She was very easy to work with, and I feel like next time I should supply her with a xanax or 7 for our craziness. Pictures to come!!

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A margarita for mommy. and a bloody nose for you!

After the *good* time I had day before yesterday with Duke drinking piss and tequila, I figured it would be at least another week before something note-worthy happened. I should know better. That’s never the case.

Today started out normal enough. I woke up late…as usual. The kids got to school late…again. I picked up my Mom and made the *adult* decision to have some balls and take initiative to continue working out every day, so that’s exactly what we did. After shaping my body into a *true* work of art, we decided to grab a bite to eat, and get something healthy. Fate intervened when some moron pulled into MY parking space in the deli, so we were forced to wait for another. Then I realized that Chili’s was in the next lot over…and we *could* have something healthy there too. Three Southwest egg rolls, 15 chili glazed chicken wings, and *ahem* 3 margaritas later, it was time for a nap. Hey…I earned it!

I crashed at my aunt’s house for a few minutes (or 2 hours), and then we went to pick up the kids. That’s when the *real* fun started. I was pleased as punch that Gracelyn got a green dot, AND a recommendation from the teacher to be placed in the Gifted & Talented program!!

We were on our way home when Violet started beating Gracelyn in the head with a plastic bottle (to congratulate her on her school achievement). It was innocent enough, I suppose, but Gracelyn was NOT impressed, and retaliated with a punch in the gut. Payback from Violet was served up with another bottle smack to the head, and hair pulling. Gracelyn let out the most high-pitched scream *evah*, started crying, turned around, and slapped Violet in the face. Now both girls were crying and screaming, and I did the thing any *good* mother would do. I started laughing, and told them both they had it coming. ALL while I’m driving!! Another glance in the rearview mirror showed Violet with a bloody nose. About the time I told Quentin to get a napkin, my Mom yelled, “Oh no! She’s bleeding everywhere!”

I try to imagine what people in other cars thought when they passed us….all in my pimped out mini-van, me driving, my Mom’s butt up in the air….because she was standing on her knees in the seat, leaning over trying to help Violet. By this time Gracelyn’s screaming thinking she’s killed Violet. Quentin was absolutely NO help at all. Violet’s nose was literally *squirting* blood, and I was saying, “Wait! Someone get my camera!” Priorities, people. It’s ALL about priorities.

Long story short, everyone in the family survived. The only death was for Violet’s shirt and 5 blood soaked napkins. When I got her out of the car, she had blood all over her legs and said, “But Mom! My wegs is bweedin’!" I didn’t get a picture of her bloody face, but I did get one of some of the damage, and looking perfect 20 minutes later.

This would technically make her *third* broken nose, in less than a year, and she’ll be 3 next month. Anyone want to donate to the upcoming nose job fund? I would be *much* obliged.

We do NOT drink piss in our family!

So it’s been a coon’s age since I last blogged. We’ll just say my unfortunate run-in with a pine tree gave me writers block for a bit (or 3 months). The pine tree *finally* met it’s ultimate demise a few days ago, when I saw it being chopped and loaded into a trailer, and the rest being put into a wood chipper. Suck on *that*, pine!

You may not have any idea of what I’m referring to with all this pine tree talk. In October, on my way to drop off my girls at school, a pine tree smite me in the SUV, so to speak, and I nearly met Jesus up close and personal. Fortunately the girls were unharmed. My SUV died and went to junk heaven, and I was taken to ETMC. I don’t remember a thing, but I got 8 liters of blood (thank you very *much*, donors), and spent 6-8 hours in surgery for them to save my now-gimpy left arm. After a few days on a ventilator, and some good drugs (from the best parts I recall, of course), I was released about a week after the accident. I’d also like to extend a *very* personal thank you to the suckbag pine tree, who forced me to have to drive a minivan now.

I had to have spots on my biceps closed up a few times, because it kept coming open, so *that* was nice. My stupid arm is still numb, and burns all the time. A few of my fingers won’t bend, and that pisses me off when I need them to help button my pants, but honestly I shouldn’t complain. I *do* have one of the best scars EVAH and it instantly makes me 10 times hotter. I’m lucky I’m alive and that I have 2 arms.

Now, on to *more* important things.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Duke should live in Japan because he likes to drink piss. Piss is, after all, sterile. If you’re stranded out somewhere for a long while, and need something to drink, you can drink piss if you need to. It still doesn’t make me a fan of it. I’m not sure how long I’ll have to wait before I can kiss Duke on the mouth.

Fa’real yo. He managed to escape the carefully planned out trap doors we have put up around the house; this particular one made up of about 7 pillows. He was able to squeeze his little fat body underneath them to the other side of the couch, and made a beeline down the hall. I wasn’t worried, since I knew I shut the doors in the hallway. No problem. Until a few minutes later when I hear Gracelyn screaming, “NO Duke! You can drink that! Oh my gosh, Mom! Come here!! Duke is drinking pee and sucking on toilet paper!!!” LOVELY.

Apparently Gracelyn went into the bathroom earlier to wash her hands and forgot to shut the door. It was *also* disgustingly apparent that Byron is in 3rd grade and *still*, at 34 years of age, doesn’t know how to flush the toilet. Duke was standing at the toilet, leaned over with his arms in it, and covered in piss water. Holy piss indeed ma’am. Needless to say, Duke was bathed in GermEx.

Later, in the bat cave, all was relatively calm. Duke was upset because he didn’t think I’d ever kiss him again, so he crawled over to one of his favorite parts of the house. The Liquor Cabinet. He took out his favorite old bottle of tequila, started beating a spoon on it, and chewing on the lid. It *was * pretty cute, so I even ran to find the camera to take a picture. I switched over to look at it, to make sure he wasn’t all goggle-eyed, and noticed something more important. The lid was sitting behind him, on the floor. The cap to the bottle. A UWS (unidentified wet spot) was on the floor behind him. It seems Dukers took it upon himself to get the lid off, and washed his mouth out all antiseptic-like so I’d feel better about kissing him (he *knows* I love margaritas). Fortunately I was only gone getting the camera for 15 seconds, so he wasn’t *totally* soused. We’re SO waiting for his 1st birthday party for that!!

PS: I got extensions, so I look like this now: