My Ass Hurts!

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PITA

Yes, you read that correctly. My ass, does in fact hurt! Why does my ass hurt? I will gladly explain what is causing my ass pain.

Child 1 : Likes to fight with Child 2. Loves to leave dirty laundry on the floor. Hates to share video games. Doesn’t enjoy eating vegetables. Forgets everything. I am not exaggerating on this one, like EVERYTHING!

Child 2: Also enjoys fighting with Child 1. Loves to change into as many outfits as she can in a day. She like to go through my closet to try on my shoes and scuff them. She hates to share. She doesn’t really play with anything. She likes to do things but not play. She would like to employ me as a personal¬†masseuse or entertainment to be ready at her disposal. Loves to spend most of her time setting something up and then abandoning the project. For example, she will pull out tables, blankets, toys, clothes to set up a pretend store, but before she actually plays, gets bored, abandons the idea and leaves the mess. ūüė¶

Child 3: She enjoys crying and whining. She loves to ask for things in that sing song whining voice. EEEK!!! She also enjoys changing clothes and often protests getting left out of what Child 2 is doing. She like to secretly write on the walls and then pretend it wasn’t her, even thought it says her name. She hates to use the bathroom and needs to be dragged to use the facilities. She much rather hold it in until she explodes.

Child 4: She like to eat, eat & eat again. When I cut her off, she cries, cries and cries. She has a cry and scream that can probably speak to the whales in the depth of the sea. She likes to get into things she isn’t suppose to, especially something that is important to Child 1, 2 or 3. She enjoys spilling toys on the floor and then running away. She also enjoys changing her clothes, but when I need her to be dressed she lays limp, not wanting to participate in getting dressed. Go figure.

All of this going on simultaneously can be a real pain in my ass. I love them, I truly do. These people are the air that I breathe and my purpose in life, but sometimes they can be real assholes. I have decided to express to my husband that I am at my wits end. These kids are a bunch of assholes. He simply sips his coffee, unfazed and replies, “I blame it on the parents.” ¬†ūüė¶

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Thank you for listening to my rant, again! ūüôā

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Foot In Mouth Disease – It’s a serious thing people!

Hi My name is Lisa and I have Foot in Mouth Disease.

Hi Lisa (Readers says in unison)

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I have a problem. Words take a zip line from my brain and fly out of my mouth in a nano second. So fast, that I don’t have an opportunity to grab a hold of them for inspection, to making sure they are safe for the public to hear. If you are ever wondering what I am thinking, just sit next to me for a few minutes. Some of you might be like, Wow, that’s not such a bad quality. Why is she complaining about this? ¬†

I’ll tell you why. Example #1:

I am at a close friends gathering. Her boyfriend is there, they have been dating a while now. His parents are there as well. I think to myself :¬†Lisa, those poor people don’t know anyone. Go over there and be charming. Make them feel comfortable and welcomed. Go! ¬†So, I stroll over there, introduce myself and make conversation. Before you know it, they are telling me about how they named there son (my friends boyfriend). It was a toss between two names, the name he has or some dorky name.

“Well, I think you made the right choice. Its a good thing you didn’t name him Dorky Name. He would have been terrorized growing up. Could you imagine?” I say, without coming up for air. Then, I continue to say all the ways you could make fun of a person with said Dorky Name. I am rhyming out different insults tied to the name, even a little song. Mind you, I am counting on my fingers all the ways I came up with to prove that they clearly made the right choice. This goes on for about a solid five minutes (I am not exaggerating, I wish I was). FINALLY, I stop moving my mouth and there, there it was. The SILENCE. I’ve done it again.

“Dorky Name is my name” Boyfriends Dad says, straight faced and very insulted.

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Yup! I do this all the dam time!

My intention is not to be malicious and I am sorry if I have ever insulted anyone out there.

Does anyone in the crowd have the same disease as me? Can you top this story?

I must warn you, this is the tip of the ice burg as far as stories. I have been suffering from this for a loooong time. I got stories!

The good news is I have a prescription for it now.

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Ahh! Words to live by!

Absent Minded Professor Syndrome

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Despite the daily rituals and routines, my son is a driving force, rebelling against regularity. At his tender age of eight years old, he pretty much lives the same day on repeat, as most children do. Routine, routine routine! He has the same homework every day, reading, math and spelling. It is all logged into his agenda book daily, which needs to be signed by a parent. We have the same morning and nightly routines that one would expect in any household with children. Pretty standard stuff right?  One would think so.

It could be viciously snowing out, freezing cold temperatures in the dead of winter, when my son charges off of the bus after full day at school. There is only one problem. “Where’s your coat?”

We sit down to do homework, part of the aforementioned routine, and sort through the contents of his backpack. There is just one problem. “Where are your books?”

We are getting ready to leave the house, all six of our family members waiting by the door to leave. There is just one problem. “Where are your shoes?”

I suppose its more than just “one” problem, but every time I am always sincerely surprised. I honestly just cannot believe that he hasn’t mastered the routine of his life by now. I should mention that he receives great grades in school and his reading is well above his grade level. He is no doubt a very intelligent boy. Intelligent but dumb!

I am at my wits end and losing patients . . .

The People I Live With

I’m worn down. Underneath my nose is chapped and raw, as I take in a series of short breaths.¬† My eyes are watery, my bones are achy and worst of all, I can’t taste my coffee.¬† My symptoms come as no surprise, just proof of the affection I have received from the people I live with.¬† These same people have been screaming and whining throughout the house, like a sword slicing through my ear drums.¬† They have been arguing and fighting, tumbling down to the floor, vibrating the walls. I am forced to live with people that are slobs, leaving piles of their¬†things everywhere,¬†dishes in the sink and a trail of dirty laundry.¬†Sharing a bathroom with them¬†has become intolerable, toothpaste on the vanity, paper on the floor, and¬†you can¬†almost always count on a surprise¬†waiting in the toilet.¬†¬†I live¬†with an¬†inconsiderate bunch, just when I sit, they ask for a favor.¬† Just when I take my first bite, they beg for seconds.¬† I cohabitate with the most unorganized¬†group of people you could imagine.¬† The moment they put anything down, its lost!¬† Better yet, they rely on my ability to see before they are able to use anything. These people¬†have¬†no consideration for boundaries and what belongs exclusively to me. They are constantly asking for help, always needing, always wanting.

Just when I decide, “I’ve had enough, I’m going to find a new place to live,” they widen their adorable little eyes, reach their tiny little arms around my neck and call me “mommy.”

Although they aren’t the ideal housemates, I do love them anyway!

It has just been a rough day!