Worn But Not Broken

"God Damn. God Damn. God Damn. What the hell is wrong with you? Use your brain. Oh, you don't have a brain because you're lazy and I know you lost your job. I know you got fired you stupid liar. You're ugly and you're a liar. All you do is sit around all day long and you don't even have a job and you can't afford a good car. I wish you weren't my Mom. You're such an idiot. You idiot. You dumb stupid idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. I want to go live with Dad so I don't have to look at you or ever see you. You're the curse of my life. You bully. Mean idiot. Why why why, Mom? Why do you have to be such a jerk?"

These are the exact words that came out of my 6 year old's mouth. I couldn't find his hat this morning and these words are my punishment. Every morning and every evening he recites some variation of these lovely words to me. All I have to do to inspire these words is to exist. Do I correct him? Fuck yeah. Do I spank him? HELL yes. Do I put him in a quiet area so he can calm himself down? You betcha. I've done it all. I have employed every strategy under the sun. Nothing helps.

I feel like I live with a verbally abusive spouse. It's a little different, however, because I have unconditional love for him. And I know he's sick. I KNOW the chemicals in his brain aren't quite right. I know this because when he's on his ADHD meds he is a completely different kid. Focused, loving, peaceful....my child. The child that grew from the adoring baby in the picture is my son. The child that says the above words to me is not my child. I know that. Those words that he says to me do not define him but it still cuts me when he says them. I'm worn down and I'm just about ready to break.

Get up at 5:30 every morning. Stand in the scalding hot shower to work out the giant knots in my back and neck. Get 4 children ready for school. Take them all to school (2 different schools). Go to work. Pick them up. Take them to therapy. Take them home. Make dinner. Give baths. Put them to bed. Work on lessons until 10:30. Pass out. I....am....worn.

I'm getting him a psychiatrist. I don't want my son to hurt me or anyone else. I am worn but not yet broken. I have the other 3 boys giving me bear hugs and kisses and loving words and appreciation and patience. Worn... but not broken.

Just....keep....swimming.

Happy Belated Candy and Boobs Day!

When you're single (or married without children) Valentine's Day is all about you. Look at me! Gimme stuff! FEED ME EXPENSIVE FOOD! And then be understanding when I pass out before Valentine's sex because of all the expensive food. Heehee. Ooops!

All that shit is fun, don't get me wrong. But you a suckah if you think it lasts...or if you think you would WANT it to last. Maybe I'm a weirdo but the idea of getting all fancied up and spending a fuck ton of money on food just to be muffin topping out of my control tops doesn't sound like a super awesome Valentine's Day. Sounds kinda suckish to me. Don't look at me! You fed me cheese! I'm lactose intolerant! YOU POISONED ME AND NOW I'M FATISH!....do me a solid and grab me some scissors so I can cut myself out of these control top panty hose.

Here is where I reveal my problem. Mostly I'm not ashamed of my problem. I really don't SEE it as a problem. But I guess it is....a problem. Yoga pants. I love yoga pants. All I want to wear is the yoga pant. They're so comfy and slimming (shut up, they are) and I can eat and eat and they just look cute and don't make me look fat (SHUT UP!). OK, I know they're the new version of the Mom Jeans but I don't care! They make me happy.

OK so yoga pant obsession aside I do realize I'm a woman and I do like to feel sexy (as long as I don't have to be uncomfy...had to add that stipulation). Knowing that I would never spend the money on pretty lady items myself the Super Boyfriend gave me a gift card to Victoria's Secret. He is, after all, the Emperor of Romance;).

It being Candy and Boob Day (That's what I call Valentine's Day because it's really all about eating candy and showing off your boobs. Tell me I'm wrong, I dare you) I decided to brave the Mall and partake of the pretty panties. Bare in mind, this wasn't an easy trip to make because I've gained weight.....slid past curvy and moved right on into plump but I'm cool with it. Pumped and excited to have something new and kid booger free, I sauntered into the Mall ready to get my sexy on.

Aw! Look at that beautiful knocked up lady! Nope. No baby. Just a Double Doozie Cookie.

One step into Victoria's Secret and I literally said out loud "Sweet Jesus, they have sweats!" (sweats being a close second to yoga pants). Man, sweats make me love life but that's not why I was there, dammit! After some tough love self talk I resolved to walk away from the sweats. Two steps away and damn if I'm not smack dab in front of Razorback sweats. Come on!!!!! Oh, I wanted them bad. I almost did a little tantrum jumping.

Moving on, I found lots of ridiculously short nighties. Not my forte but I was game. That was the fastest I've ever tried on anything in my life. It's not that it looked bad I'm just not a lacy frilly little tiny bows everywhere kinda girl. Totally appreciate it on other women, just not on this woman;). The perfect compromise was a cotton striped nightie. Plain, simple, boob pads- perfect!

Nothing is going to make me give up my yoga pants. Whether I'm 115 pounds or 145 pounds, I must have them. I'm a working single Mom with a boyfriend that lives 4 states away. Kinda easy to say "fuck it" and frump it up.  But I am going to try to make an effort to feel a little more womanish. The boyfriend (Who is, by the way, the most kind, loving, sympathetic, understanding, giving, hilarious, amazing....he's God, OK. He's superhuman and possibly an alien because Earth people aren't that wonderful) deserves a girlfriend that actually looks like a girl.

Happy 2 Days after Valentine's Day! Eat your candy and show off your boobs! Especially if you're this bitch (said with affection and love because although I don't know her I find her proportions tantalizing as well as unfair as all get out).

I found her on Pinterest. Would it be weird if I added her to my "Want It Bad" board? God Almighty!

Momma Alice Economics

Smug little fucker, isn't he?

You people have no idea the lengths I go to in order to please my boys. They are boys, after all, which makes them inherently incapable of being completely satisfied. See what I did there? Little man hater jab;). Sorry. As my ex says "gotta laugh to keep from crying". Love that one. Makes me feel like shit every time I hear it and yet I still appreciate the pithiness.

Back to the boys. My boys go to an all year round school which means they are out of school three extra weeks out of the year. On those weeks us working people have to shell out 60 bucks a kid for special classes they offer. In truth I think it's pretty dang cool. They get extra art, music, science...all that good shit. Anyway, one of the classes I signed the 6 and 8 year old up for is a movie class. I know, after all that big art talk a movie class doesn't sound super impressive but they watch good stuff so shut up. Since it's a lounging activity they are allowed to bring blankets and pillows. It isn't mandatory. It isn't necessary. It is not a need. It is a want. (yes, I am a freak about my SUPER greedy boys knowing the difference between needs and wants). Mistake #1- Thanks afuckinglot, school, for the blanket and pillow suggestion.

SO, being the good Mommy that I am I ran through the rain back inside the house to gather a blanket and a pillow for the 6 year old (totally forgetting the 8 year old=Mistake #2). I found one small blanket and a pillow pet. Mistake #3-Exactly how is a pillow pet going to fit in your 6 year old's itty bitty SpongeBob backpack, genius? Anticipate the tantrum, Alice. ANTICIPATE THE SHITSTORM! Lady, this is your first and foremost job as the 6 year old's Mother. What do you think is going to happen when he can't fit it into the backpack? Seriously, disappointed in you. You deserve what's coming. All I'm sayin'.

Thinking the 6 year old is going to love and adore me for bringing him his pillow pet I raced back to the car...through the rain. I threw him the pillow and blanket leaving him responsible for packing up his gear (Mistake #4....man, I just keep getting smarter and smarter). I ran through the rain (I like mentioning that over and over.....BECAUSE IT WAS FUCKING RAINING) to the driver side. By the time I got to my seat the screaming had already ensued.

At this point we're late which isn't a super huge deal because it isn't "real school" but at the same time.....I want them the fuck out of my car because they are driving me bat shit crazy. So I backed up even though I knew the 6 year old was reaching a boiling point. Realizing this shit was not going to go away and I needed to nut up and handle the situation I parked again and ran to the other side of the car to help him....in the rain.

I have to admit I have a spacial impairment (can't parallel park to save my life) but even I could see this shit wasn't going to fit. It was at this point that the 8 year old mumbled "It's ok. I don't need a blanket or pillow. I can just put my coat over me even though it's covered in my snot". So then I had the brilliant idea to let the 8 year old have the blanket and the 6 year old have the pillow pet. It's a win win. The 8 year old gets something cuddly and the 6 year old can fit the damn pillow in the damn Sponge. Plus the 6 year old would SO go for sharing because he loves his big brother and he would never want him to be without a cuddly, right? Right? FUCKING RIGHT????? Yep, Mistake #5.

Needless to say, that suggestion didn't go over well. The only option I saw was for him to simply carry the pillow pet. Nope. "Everyone will see and think I'm a baby!!!!!". Oh, holy HELL! During this entire exchange he is flipping his shit. The harder I tried to help him the more he screamed and kicked. Add to that the 3 year old yelling "stop being mean to him!!!!" as I was trying to HELP him. And so I did the only thing I thought I could do. There was no other way. Mr. Frog Pillow Pet needed to be free. Not a "want" but a definite "need". And so I freed him by throwing him out of the car and into the rain. Done and done. Inappropriate and emotionally damaging? Sure. Absolutely necessary to focus my rage on the inanimate object instead of my child? Yeah, I kinda think so.

Everything that happened after that is fuzzy. I recall part of a lunch being thrown all around the car and possibly some hissing.....maybe some speaking in tongues. Whatever it was I do remember thinking it was highly unpleasant. #1 Mission For Today- find two small pillows and two small blankets. #2 Mission- eat a fuck ton of chocolate. I'm well on my way to completing the second mission so I'm gonna go ahead and call this a productive day. Pitty pat on the back.

Happy Hump Day! Hump a pillow pet in my honor;)

Can The Heart To Hearts

My 6 year old hot mess.

Tonight my 6 year old showed renewed interest in the ancient Leapster from yesteryear. After getting all these newfangled techy gadgets from their Dad they all seemed to fall out of love with the older crap. He was loving it and I was encouraging this love affair because the games are educational and not violent. "Let's take a quiz about Polar Bears"....fuck yeah, man! I'll take that over SuperMario any day.

Anyway, I gave him warning after warning that bedtime was coming but of course he threw a huge shitfit when I finally made him turn the Leapster off. "YOU JERK! I HATE YOU! WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN TO ME? YOU JUST WANT TO HURT ME AND MAKE ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF!"....Um, what the fuck! He's the one calling ME a jerk! So, I spanked him (shut up) and forced him to sit on the potty to calm down and pee (no wet beds on my watch).

While sitting there I explained that I was simply asking him to go to bed while HE was calling me names and making ME feel bad inside.  Expecting more hissing and "I hate you"s I was completely taken aback when he calmed down and gave me a completely unfamiliar look. It took me a while but I finally realized that look was actual sympathy and understanding. WHAT? Serious Twilight Zone shit. Maybe I should have more heart to hearts with my boys while they're on the potty....or as they like to call it "the can". Lovely, I know. Once again the bathroom unites us as a family.

SIDE NOTE ABOUT SHIT MY KIDS SAY: The other day my 3 year old's teacher relayed a darling little conversation she had with him at school. He was sitting on her lap and out of the blue he asked her if she "ever farts on people". Exciting stuff. Super exciting. Mortified but not surprised, I had to laugh. Deep down I was thinking "Oh Christ, please tell me he didn't say anything like "well, MY Momma farts on people" during this conversation!". Not that I do..............OK fine. I threaten to on rare occasion. Hey, my boys don't respond to the "make good choices" approach. But the idea of being farted on is enough to scare them straight. Thankfully I haven't had to follow through with this threat...yet. 

Listen To Your Mother Auditions!!!

Yeah, I'm gonna need all you Northwest Arkansas Mommas (and Papas) to represent in this Listen to Your Mother production. I, myself, can't participate. I'm public speaking impaired. The deadline for auditions (Simmer down. It's just an essay) is February 29th so get off your asses and write some shit down. I promise I'll go watch you. I might even take my top off and throw it off the stage. And if I'm too lazy to do that (which is the more likely scenario) then I'll just throw chocolate at you. DO IT!

Love,
Alice

Like Water For Madonna

Riddle me this...why is it that on the weekends when I'm completely kidless there is absofuckinglutely nothing that interests me on tv but the second I get them back all of a sudden there's a shitload to watch? Honestly, I didn't expect my children to watch all of the Superbowl with me. I'm not completely delusional. I tortured them for 30 minutes of it...well, really I was the one being tortured because they were so not interested they were all but back flipping naked off the couch to distract me. I switched it on over to SpongeBob fully intending on slipping away at halftime to try and get a glimpse of Madonna. "Slipping away" is a total joke. If the 3 year old could figure out how to duct tape himself to my ass he would. The second I leave his sight he bolts frantically from the room in search of my whereabouts. Why I thought tonight would be any different is beyond me. So I sneaked into the big boy's room for a quick looky loo at the half time show. The instant I sat down the 3 year old was on top of me screaming for water.

3 year old: Mommy gimme water!

Me: OK sweetie, just wait 5 min...

3 year old: MOMMY GI-MME WATER!

Me: I'd love to, I swear to God! Just let me watch this. It won't last long.

3 year old: NOW!

11 year old: Can I have the remote? This is awful music.

Me: NO, 11 year old! 3 year old, hold on, sweetie. I love you! Just give me this one thing. It's all I'm asking!

3 year old now literally on top of my head: I DON'T CARE I DON'T CARE I WANT WATER GET UP!

11 year old: This is MY room. I shouldn't have to be subject to this kind of torture in MY room!

6 year old screaming from down the hall: Mom, the 8 year old has my brush! GET IT FROM HIM! HURRY! LIFE AND DEATH, MOM! IF YOU DON'T COME RIGHT THIS SECOND YOU DON'T LOVE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me frantically trying to peek through all the arms and legs: I'M BEGGING YOU GUYS! PLEASE! I'LL GET YOU 12 GALLONS OF WATER IN 2 MINUTES! I'LL BEAT YOUR BROTHER IN A SECOND AND GET YOUR BRUSH BACK! PLEASE!

................and that concludes Madonna's spectacular half time show. Ah, blow.

So then, like a fucking 2 year old I stomped into the bathroom and gave him his water all huffy and ridiculous. Just as I'm at the climax of my Mommy tantrum the 8 year old ran into the bathroom with my phone all ecstatic that he figured out how to take photos and said "Hey, Mom! Smile!". Of course, in true split personality form I immediately flashed a big smile. He handed me the camera and I melted into the floor as I looked at my 3 year old's giant grin in the picture.

Oh, poor me. Alone all weekend. Sleeping in. Laying on my ass and doing whatever I want. Eating Symphony Bars willy nilly. Then these children invade my life and bother me with their demands and unconditional love and adoration. Jesus, WHY ME! I swear, sometimes I marvel at how absurd my brain is. Who gives a fuck about Madonna. No question mark because that's totally rhetorical. Yes, my children do need to respect things that are important to me but watching Madonna sing in THE most boring outfit ever worn on television truly does NOT fall under the category of "things that are important to me".

I am not afraid to out my bad Mommy moments. Super flawed as I am, I know I'm a good Momma. BUT I am not super human. I'm still selfish as all hell. The difference is my ability to recognize when I'm being a dumb ass. And I was.

Fly That Morbid Freak Flag, Boy!

My boy does pottery and poetry. Yeah, I'm not worried about this one.

My 11 year old jumped in the car after school yesterday brimming with pride. He wrote a poem. And here it goes...

Shadow Girl
Her grave lies beneath the tree
of sadness and despair.
But the strange thing about this story
is that she's never there.


Her eyes are fired with anger,
her mouth is filled with blood.
Her heart is empty from the loss of
her parents in the Great Flood.


She reveals herself at dusk
and rids herself at dawn.
Although she seems to make her
visit infinitely long.


You will all soon believe in her
soon after you have ate.
She will sneak up on you
and before you notice... it's too late.

As you can imagine I cried heavy love tears when I read this. The boy's got my lovely dark sense of humor. We're THIS CLOSE to being able to watch horror movies together. This almost makes up for the fact that I will never have a daughter to wear matching outfits with.

Yearning to share in my pride I showed my Mother his poem. Yeah, she wasn't as impressed. After making a couple of horrified faces she said "maybe you should show him some real poetry". FLASHBACK: I was in the 4th grade filling legal pad after legal pad with what I thought was genius poetry. My Mother took a gander at one of my favorites. It didn't go over well. I believe one of the lines was "death to all lawyers by feather and tar". I was crushed that she wasn't as in love with it as I was. Sure my Father was a lawyer but what does that have to do with my poetry? I don't get it. It's a mystery to this day.

Anyway, my boy's teacher let him bring it home but she wants him to bring it back to school Monday so she can make copies of it. Hopefully not for DHS. Hey, I support my boys and their freak flags. If they want to write morbid poetry it's gonna get framed and mounted on the wall. Word.