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.