Front Butts and Twatties

Four years ago when the littlest spawn was about 3, she walked in on Hubber in his birthday suit.  After he freaked the fuck out and pushed her out of the restroom and locked the door behind her, she scurried on over to me with wide eyes and said, "Daddy's front butt looks like an elephant trunk!"

And so was born the term, "front butt". 

Contrary to popular urban dictionary definitions of "front butt", here it's used to replace the word vajayjay or pooch-pie, or peepeepie or girly junk.  In my home, we embraced the term and learned quickly to throw it around in conversation like it's the most natural thing in the world.  Front butt this... front butt that... front butt wedgies.... you get the gist. 

So, a few days ago when the littlest spawn was talking to her friend about how front butts should be wiped from front to back, she learned something fantastic about front butts.

Littlest Spawn:  Momma, did you know that some people NAME their front butts?

Me: I'm afraid to ask where you're going with this.

Littlest Spawn:  Seriously!  Jackie named hers "Twatty."  Cute, huh?

Me:  Did you just say TWATTY?

Littlest Spawn:  Yeah!  But, that's a baby-ish name.  I think I'll call mine Samantha!

Me:  Oh, no you will not!  We do not name our body parts!  Our body parts are not toys!

Hubber:  <to me> Yours are.  They're my toys.

Me: You're not helping.

Littlest Spawn:  Excuse me, Samantha needs to pee...


If I Had a Nickel...

...for every time someone confused me with someone they actually know WHO IS NOT ME, I'd be a rich ass mofo.

Yesterday one of the new snooty moms at the littlest spawn's dance class kept staring at me, so I smiled and said, "HI!" Although what I really wanted to say was: "What the fuck are you staring at, heifer?  Do I have a zit on my nose?  A booger on my cheek? What?!"

Snooty Mom:  Hi... do I know you from somewhere?

Me:  Hmmm... No, I don't think so.

Snooty Mom:  Yeah, I think I do... what school does your daughter go to?

Me:  Moore... but I'm rarely ever there... so, that can't be it.

Snooty Mom:  Did you go to Baylor?

Me:   Ha!  Nope.  You don't know me.  I just have a familiar face.  I hear it all the time.

Snooty Mom:  Wait!  I know!  You're on the church festival committee!  Or choir?  At Prince of Peace?

Me:  Nope.

Snooty Mom:  But you do go to church?

Me: This feels like an interrogation.  Are you a cop?  I didn't do it! I swear.

This is how many encounters with strangers go for me.  Do I go to church??  HA!  But, being confused for a church lady ain't shit, y'all.  People are always thinking they know me from somewhere. I've been confused for a flight attendant, a circus performer (shut the fuck up), and even a Walmart employee (which isn't all that hard to believe).

Sometimes, my friends even spot one of my evil twins in odd places.  I'll randomly get a text from a friend that reads something like: Are you sitting at a bar in Miami right now? when I'm in bed blowing my nose and reading a trashy novel.  Sometimes I have to check my surroundings to make sure that I am NOT indeed in Miami... or in an airport... or at a blackjack table in Vegas... or wind surfing in Hawaii.  My evil twins get a lot more perks than I do.

And, one time, I had this very old lady walk right up to me, tilt her head and stare holes into my retinas, "you look just like my son's wife - she died of cancer two years ago."  Then, she just walked off.  All I could think was that THAT BITCH JUST GAVE ME OJO!  (for those of you who did not grow up around  Santeria and Mexican voodoo, ojo is the ultimate "evil-eye staring curse" you give people to jinx them for life... it can only be countered by being touched by the person doing the staring)... and that old hag didn't lay one finger on me.  She musta hated her dead daughter-in-law and she is now taking that shit out on innocent look-alikes!

To get that shit overturned, I had to pay $20 to a shady bruja who made me drink chicken blood and sleep with raw eggs in a jar of vinegar under my bed for 3 days.

What if it didn't work? Maybe that pain in the back of my head really IS a tumor!

It's a bird... it's a plane... NO... It's SUPER ME!

I have a superpower that I keep forgetting to tell y'all about. It's the power to tune shit out. This power didn't come naturally. It started out small... a spark here and there. But over the years, I have fine-tuned that shit into the superpower that it is now.

I can be in the noisiest environment imaginable... kids screaming, dog barking, TV blaring, nuclear bomb dropping... and I won't hear a fucking thing. I can type away on my computer and tune it all out. I can even read a book peacefully while thunder rolls, the neighbors beat on drums, my kids slam doors and the my dog howls. No problemo. Unless I hear the word "Mom" in all the commotion, I don't give a rat's ass what's going on around me. Sometimes, I don't even hear "Mom" when I'm deep down in the alternate universe of the superpower.

I can tune the shit out, is what I'm saying.

The only problem is... it falls dormant when I'm asleep.  The superpower gets confused when it's too quiet, I think, because it ain't nowhere to be found when I need it most.  I can hear a pin drop on a pillow 100 feet away behind a closed door WHEN I'M A-FUCKIN-SLEEP. I have a feeling the god doling out superpowers in Krypton is a really short man with a tiny penis who hates women.

Me: <bolting upright in bed, mid snore, startled beyond belief> What the fuck was that!? 

Hubber: You mean, this.... <puts finger on computer mouse and clicks> ?

Me: No... something is going on in the girls' room.

<Hubber goes to check>

Hubber: Your oldest spawn just flushed the toilet.  You want me to ground her?

Me: Yes. You people need to learn how to shut the fuck up when I'm trying to sleep!

The asshole neighbors don't make it any easier for me.  Hubber will make fun of the fact that I can fall asleep on demand... but what he never mentions is the fact that I wake up every 15 fucking minutes because the dicky god of superpowers put restrictions on my abilities.

Wait a minute.

I just thought of something.  Maybe the hearing-pins-dropping-mid-sleep is another superpower!  Maybe I'm one of those freak superheros who is burdened with managing TWO powers.  Beat that shit, x-men alumni!

I take comfort in the fact that my kids are still scared of Santa Claus

On a recent re-run of "Everybody Loves Raymond", Ray goes into his daughter's room in the middle of the night dressed up like Santa... he whispers his kid's name and she wakes up startled but then she's all like, "oh, hi, Santa!" all happy and welcoming... they proceed to have a nice conversation... he kisses her on the forehead and tucks her back into bed before he leaves.

Does no one else find this shit disturbing?!

If that shit woulda happened in my house, my kids woulda screamed bloody fucking murder, y'all!  When the oldest spawn was little, she had nightmares about Santa watching her while she slept. She used to sleep with scissors under her pillow just in case the mother fucker decided to pop in on her.  She was ready to stab a bitch...for real.  And, don't even get me started on the littlest spawn.  She doesn't trust anyone in a costume...gifts or no gifts, she ain't going anywhere near that shit.

Me:  It's a good thing our girls are scared of Santa.

Hubber:  Uh.... ok...

Me:  Because if Santa showed up in their bedroom in the middle of the night, they'd scream for us!

Hubber: You DO know Santa doesn't exist, right?

Me: I don't mean the real Santa, asshole!  I mean, one of those crazyass pedophiles dressed up like Santa!

Hubber: Oh.

Me: If I were a kid snatcher, that's what I would do!  It's the best disguise to lure kids!  I'd do all my dirty work on Christmas Eve.

Hubber:  This is the most fucked up conversation we've had all year.

Me: Seriously, Hub! Think about it!  Kids love Santa (well, most of the normal ones do)... they see Santa in their room on Christmas Eve, they're gonna trust that sonofabitch and go anywhere he tells them to.  Think of the Polar Fucking Express!!  Those kids got on the train in the middle of the night with a stranger!!

Hubber: You're dumb.

Me: Kids are dumb.  From now on, I'm gonna teach my kids to be scared of EVERYTHING!

Hubber: They're one step ahead of you.

And it's true... they're scared of a lot of dumb shit.  Don't you dare let the Chik-Fil-A cow wander anywhere near them... they'll flip their shit.  The littlest spawn is afraid of the dark... so, at night, she wears an eye mask to sleep in. So she can't SEE the dark.  With her eyes closed.  While she's fucking sleeping.

And you people wonder why I drink.


Kids Are Pigs - Let's Make Bacon

because bacon makes everything better


Just because I work at home doesn't mean I'm everyone's personal maid. Contrary to popular beliefs, I actually try to WORK all day. I don't have time to go around picking up shit my kids leave strewn about. On the surface, my girls are cute... they're funny... they're smart (this is a matter of opinion) and they appear to be clean and well groomed. What people don't know is that they are actually filthy pigs shat from the bowels of hell. 

The oldest spawn will be 17 years old this year. Over the years, she has struggled with lifting a fucking finger to help make my life a little easier. She isn't interested in making my life easier. All she is interested in is living like a slob. When she was 13, she used to hoard dirty dishes in her room. I kept buying tumblers and bowls thinking some serial dish robber was sneaking in through my kitchen window to snatch my shit up. I even made a booby trap out of broken wine bottles on the windowsill to try to catch that motherfucker once and for all. But, when I found a bowl of moldy, stinky, milk swollen cheerios stashed away in her bathroom cabinet while searching desperately for a tampon, I knew who the real thief was. My fucking kid.

So, what did I do? I put Hubber on the case. He turned that room upside down and found crusty forks under mattresses, cups stacked behind books, petrified pizza crusts in file cabinet drawers, and bowls growing science experiments under the bed and in the closet. The craziest thing (because evidently, that shit isn't crazy enough), was that when we questioned her about it, she acted completely dumbfounded like she had no clue where all that shit came from.

Me: What the fuck were you thinking? How long has this been going on?

1st Spawn: I didn't do it. I swear! I don't know where any of that stuff came from.

Hubber: I'll tell you where it came from! It came from you dragging shit up to your room and hiding it because you were too damn lazy to bring it back down to the kitchen... or throw it in the trash.

1st Spawn: Daddy, I swear! I didn't do it!

Hubber: Well then WHO did?

1st Spawn: I don't know. Maybe it was a ghost. I told you there are ghosts in this house! (find more on the pesky ghost here)

Yeah, that's how the conversation went. And, Hubber kept arguing with her because that's what he does. And, do you think the dish stashing stopped after that argument? It didn't. It went on for the next few months (or years... as it turns out because we found fresh stashes of shit when we moved out of the house last year). Even the contraction of staph infections didn't change her lazy ways.

After we moved and the route between her bedroom and the kitchen became almost non-existent, the hording of dirty dishes seemed to get better but other slobbish habits took over.

  1. She can't seem to close a drawer.  The clothes in the drawers aren't even overflowing.  It would take literally 2 seconds to shove them closed with a hip while walking by. 
    WTF? Just close the damn drawers!
  2. She can't seem to toss empty toilet paper rolls in the trash can that sits right under the toilet paper roll holder.
  3. She collects hair on her shower wall.  Hair. Long, gnarly strands of hair.  Her logic to collecting hair there is that it's better than clogging the drain.  Never mind the fact there is a trash can right next to the fucking tub.
  4. She co-mingles clean clothes with dirty clothes and can't keep track of what is clean and what is dirty, so when she's getting dressed in the morning, she tosses a shirt and a pair of jeans into the dryer with a dryer sheet to "dewrinkle" it, she says.  More like "freshen it up" so she doesn't smell like sweaty cooch and gym socks.
But it's not just her pig pen lifestyle that drives me nuts, she's also a lazy heifer who will fall over dead if she has to help do anything remotely related to housework.  It takes her 2 hours to wash 4 plates, 4 forks and 4 cups because she suddenly has to take a shit, then she cuts herself on the tip of a fork and starts bleeding profusely, then she bumps her head on the razor sharp edge of an open cabinet door and blood starts pooling in her eye, then she slips on dog drool and strains a hamstring which prohibits the ability to bend and load the dishwasher.

Her sister has officially started following in her footsteps.  I've tried to instill in the littlest spawn the importance of proper hygiene and picking up after her damn self. Has she learned one fucking thing? No.  She wears Depends-for-Kids because she has bladder issues at night and I got tired of washing pee-soaked sheets every fucking day.  But, can she remove the pull-up and place it in the garbage?  No.  She removes it, then leaves it in the middle of the bedroom floor where it transfers pee stink into the carpet and into the air.  She will make games of jumping over the damn thing.  She will build barriers around it so that the dog doesn't snatch it up.  But, she will not pick it up without a fight.

Why?  Because "it's gross, Moooom!", and she doesn't want to get pee on her fingers.  This from the same kid who to this day will pluck boogers out of her nose and eat them for snacks throughout the day.  The same kid who will take a shit, NOT wipe properly a wear shit encrusted panties all day.  The same kid who will scratch her ass and sniff her fingers.  The same kid who chews on her own fucking toenails. 
Turns out the dog is grossed out, too.
The other day when the girls' toilet was clogged beyond Hubber's ability to remedy it, the plumber came in, stepped over two swollen pull-ups, around a pile of clothes lying on the floor next to an empty laundry basket, and past a drawer full of teenager thongs.  Behind the toilet, he spotted an empty popcorn bag and a glass half-full of green muck that was once a banana smoothie. 

And you people wonder why I drink.