I (almost didn't) DOMINATE, YO.

You know that moment...when you're waking, wishing whatever kid with their foot shoved up under your rear would remove it….or at least have the *decency* to take their scratchy socks off their feet.....or, remove stickers (from previous sticker-overdose)…. even shave, perhaps? But wait....shave? It could only be one of my children, and none of them shave. Except for Q – who’s 15 – and if *his* foot is up under my butt while sleeping? We have FAR bigger issues.

Only *2* hairs? When was the last time their foot was 1"x2”? In utero? A foot that seemed to be struggling, wiggling ... it *IS* a foot...RIGHT?! Suddenly the thought crept into my mind….WHAT in the holy monkey piss is up under my bid’ness, yo?! Somebody call for back-up, SpecOps, NARCs, NARC-Anon’s, The Fab 5 (where *are* they these days?!), HELP!!!!!!

Now that I mention it, go ahead and call for paramedics. There *seems* to be a head-sized hole in my bedroom ceiling. Then again, maybe that’s just a dent in the ceiling….and the hole’s in my head.

I *knew* I should’ve been a high-jumper!!! We could’ve been living the high-life off the money made from my superb, nay – SUPREME – high-jumping skills. I’d have commercials, promo deals for Nike and Gatorade, my face would be on the box of Wheaties…..oh! The things I would’ve *loved* to know long ago. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be…..

*The* MOST GINORMOUS DEVILBUG (waterbug) in the HISTORY OF MAN just tried to EAT ME ALIVE!!!!!!!!! He could’ve had the integrity to cook me first. I know I went off and broke my dermis or something important….what’s it called? Your spatula? Spectrum? Speculum? (Wait, I’ve heard that somewhere before……) Sternum! That’s what I broke, when my head hit the ceiling and my body bent in unnatural positions.

Insects? Sure. Snakes? Love 'em. Had a 6-footer named Rutherford. Skydiving? Of *course*. WATERBUGS?! Suck it!

Note to Waterbugs: Remember the fate of the pinetrees, dude. I won. Both times. They might’ve had me looking trashy for a hot second, but I? DOMINATED.

Here I Are

Lots of stuff has happened since 1950. People grew up. Got a few cooler cars. Got rid of some *way* cooler cars (uh, 1949 Mercury Led Sled, chop-top, black with flames & suicide doors, OR 1951 Chevy Pickup? Need I say more? Well *that's* a stupid question.) People got color TV's. Plastic surgery. They made freezable pb&j sandwiches with*out* crusts. Cell phones popped up, and so did blogs. Then around 1957, (January 2011 my time), my computer bit the dust and my 5th child - What-in-the-Sam-Hill - died. Sigh! Blogging world?! Where *have* I been without you? Lots of places. Most I didn't even wanna go to. Like the high school cafeteria. I digress.

I have *so* much to ramble on about....at least a good 6 months worth of stuff that's happened...as well as complete randomness that pops into my mind Every. Single. Day. Like how after 33 years on this earth, I've *finally* decided what I wanna be when I grow up: Eva Mendes or Lady Gaga. Don't judge me.

Guess I'll just start with today and see where it's takes me. Hm. I'm syncing my new iPhone right now, after my most recent one got syphillis, played in the dirt, had an exorcism, ate cement, and was permanently buried in the trash can. I got so excited after learning I could re-download all my past apps and 20+ hours of music that I had to take a xanax. (Okay, the xanax was just for fun. Suck it. You know I'm kidding. Maybe.) Future tip for all you freaky-deaky 15 year olds out there: Do NOT download a gazillion different free Kama Sutra apps to your Mom's phone while bored (or looking for geniune info). While I *do* appreciate the fact that they were ALL free, it's inappropriate. Do it on your Dad's phone instead. Kidding. Just don't do it. I still have a 2 year old. I don't want grandkids for another 20 years, and if I can find a place to have you (il)legally sterilized, I *will* do it. Don't tempt me. Fa'real, yo. I *love* Mexico. Don't give me another reason to have to make a trip there. Then again.....that *might* not be a bad idea.....

This evening I got to (re)meet some people from church who are part of my Supper Club group - which is exactly what is sounds like. A club. For supper. All I had to do was provide some chairs, half-clothed screaming children, and my *stunning* personality. We had a great time...or *I* had a great time. Everyone I wasn't related to was pleasant, I learned new things about some neato-bandito people, scared them with info about me, *and* ate some of the best food ever (that I will totally copy and claim as my own invention at future family get-togethers).

I take after my Mother. Although I complain about having to clean before people visit, and then froth at the mouth like Cujo-on-crack, I tend to work better under pressure....so, about 2 hours before people were set to arrive, I got into a cleaning frenzy. Oh! I'm also *always* late. After 19 years with Mr. Late himself, it's rubbed off on me.

When everyone got to my house at 6:30 on the dot, as planned, I sent Gracelyn to the door and ran to the bathroom to do a wash-cloth bath and change clothes. Think I managed to spray on enough sugar-lime refreshing spray to cover an army, threw on some different (and probably dirty) clothes, and ran back out to pretend I'd just been sitting around all day. I did, however, have to give a few excuses of why/how things were broken or unacceptable, so no one got hurt. Like the guest toilet. It doesn't flush because the Anti-Christ lives in it, so you have to fill the tank with water every other flush. Or the master toilet - how if you lean to the side you might slip off and bust your head on the table, because a hinge broke - when I stood on it - to see if dust was on top of the light-fixtures. Or maybe it was to take a full-body pic of a new dress. At this point - who cares?! Or the stained remains of innocent smashed earthworms, chocolate milk, jalapenos, dog food and dirt on the kitchen floor - because the flipping Swiffer Mop ran out of batteries while said guests were coming down my driveway....and *somehow* NOT ONE of the 15 remotes I emptied had batteries that wanted to cooperate? Or if they tried to sit on the futon couch, they might as well kick off their shoes and pretend they were visiting China, because my kids busitificated it so one side touched the floor? I finally realized it Just.Doesn't.Matter. This? Is *SO* the real me....and if they can't manage to handle the real version, I'll kindly offer the meds - because, hey! I'm a people-pleaser!

Now that it's 4:02 a.m., and I've officially been up all night - I think I'll take a shower to smell better for the dentist tomorrow. I hope I haven't overdosed on Orajel by then. Is that possib

disRobed much, suckas?

In the last week, I’ve had more than a few robe malfunctions. I have now decided to quit wearing a robe, so I’m *forced* to get dress decently should I be driving. There are three important things you should *not*, under ANY circumstances, do in a robe.

1. Drop off kids at school.

Dropping off children at school can scar your friendly principal, *especially* when said mother looks like she’s one straight-jacket short of the institution. Really. I was wearing blue tri-color striped pajamas with orange paint stains, attempting to cover them with a nicer looking robe (Christmas present…for Quentin) – last minute – when the principal suddenly steps out to open the car door for Gracelyn. My hair was also sticking out in 90 different directions, doing something I’d cuss on a good day trying to get it to do…..but then stuck a fork in a light socket, and it all went downhill. *Not* a good look for me. I know, I know, you have a *real* hard time believing there couldn’t possibly be something that fit that description, right? Meh.

2. Get gas.

A few days ago I woke up to a chilly 25 degree temp outside. Fortunately I’d made it to the bus stop in time *with* my children (don’t judge me), and figured I should get gas while the car was warmed up. Lest I not need remind you what I was wearing. Again. At least it was clean!! I think. I told myself that surely *no one* in their right mind would be out getting gas, *especially* on the end of 20+ gas pumps…and on the positive, it was still dark outside. I pulled in, turned the car off, and was about to open the door when Mr. I’m-So-Awesome-Because-I-Have-*NO*-Trouble-Getting-To-Work-When-There’s-An-Inch-Of-Ice-On-The-Road-*AND*-I-Managed-To-Fix-My-Suave-Hair Dude pulls up next to me. Figures. I pretended to look through my purse for a credit card already in my lap, waiting for the hours to pass so he’d go inside the station, get back in his truck, read a book, look at himself in the mirror…ANYTHING!!! But nooooooo, fate would not have it. Instead, he finally turned his back to me, and looked like he was doing something important. Wouldn’t you know that dirty scum-sucker turned around at the *very* moment I stepped out of the car, and the heavens parted – the angels sang – and the sun shone on me like I was princess. Except I wasn’t princess, or even a homeless one. What’s that you say? I couldn’t have looked *that* bad? Oh really. Not *even* in my fur boots, with one ripped open to display my foot?! Yeah, what was that? Suck it.

3. Jog on the side of the road.

For reasons that aren’t the topic of today’s blog, I’ve never been much of a jogger, lest I be killed or maimed in some fashion (that would at *least* be funny for a news article). About the only time you’ll see me *attempting* to do such an absurd this is when I’m running after one of my heathen spawn, after they painted the dog blue. Again. For the 3rd time. With permanent markers. Wearing only their underwear. In sub-zero temperatures. I digress.

Anyhow. I was bound and determined to beat the bus to the stop this morning. I thought for a good *minute* about putting my blue jeans on, but then figured I’d have plenty of time to do that before taking the 2nd set of kids to school. Little did I know exactly how much time I’d have. I pulled into Mom’s driveway, turned the car around, and waited for 15 minutes for the bus. The car decided to act like a girl (This girl?! Never) and quit running. Literally. I waited for the bus to get the kids, and then called Mom for gas. Technically her driveway isn’t *that* long, but after the gas station incident, I decided against the whole homeless fur boot look. Wouldn’t you know Mom was alllllll out. Next step? To the neighbors house! Yeah, uh, except that involved mud, and cold, and wind, and hell, fire and brimstone, and bad hair, bad pajamas, and a robe. Mom jumped in my car so I could use her shoes, and then I proceeded to run down the road, in PUBLIC!!, looking like that. At least this time I had on *black* pajamas, so you *totally* couldn’t even tell it was the same person as the other 2 times. You wanna know how many cars passed me?! MORE than a few. Bunch’a crap if you ask me. I sprint down their driveway, and Danny was outside getting ready to leave for work. I'm sure I scared the piss outta him, and wouldn't you know...He was out of gas too. The rest of the morning was *pure* joy, from squeezing mom’s car through the tiny gate opening left by my car, to soaking myself and God’s green earth with half the gasoline I got. Still now, almost 9 hours after my shower? I smell like I *just* sprayed on some of my newest eau du parfum – Octane.

I hope this helps some of you *fine* people not make the same mistakes. Instead, make brand new ones, and share your tips with me! Oh, and a tip for an unknown restaurant advertising on the radio: Meatball Slider? Is *not* a good name for a dish. Can it, suckas, because it does *not* make me hungry.

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'.