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A Little Old Lady, A Midget, & A Minivan

Dear Ass Clown from New Jersey,

I realize that driving up North is a totally different experience than driving down South. I get that. Truly I do. However, down here in the South, whipping your massively huge SUV into the other lane amid screeching tires and a honking horn is just bad manners. I’m terribly sorry that I had to apply the brakes in order to avoid rear ending the little old lady in front of me who was turning. I understand that she was turning at a rate of speed only rivaled by a turtle, however down here in the South we do not attempt to give little old ladies heart attacks by scaring them off the side of the road. We say ‘Bless her heart‘ and move on about our day. So when you decided that giving her the finger was an appropriate reaction to her slow navigation of her admittedly large car, well I just hope your mother is proud of the ass clown you have become.

I hope you can now see that taking out your frustrations on a sleep deprived, slightly unbalanced mother of four was a very bad idea. Very. Bad. Idea. It was shameful enough to toss the finger at a little old lady. But when you whipped your enormous SUV around me and then tried to cut back in front of me? Well sir, that was a bad choice, now wasn’t it? Didn’t quite know what you were getting yourself into, now did you?

Yes, that was my mini van that hit the back end of your enormous SUV. And by the way- you do know that driving a hugenormous SUV like that just makes us women think that you are overcompensating for your teensy weensy wiener, right? Just thought I’d throw that out there. You might want to think about it. Where was I? Oh yes, I did hit the back of your enormous SUV. And why yes, I sure did smile at you when you levered your 5 foot 4 self out of your enormous SUV and stomped back to my window with your panties all in a bunch. The first words out of your mouth should have been ‘I’m sorry ma’am for being such an ass clown‘. That would have been appropriate, given your childish behavior caused the entire incident. You know what was not appropriate? Calling me a bitch. All that did was make me want to release my inner diva, Buffy, on your midget ass. Don’t think for one hot minute just because I drive a minivan that I won’t jump out and beat your ass with my four inch high heel boots. Are we clear on that? Good. Your lack of manners was further evidenced when the police officer showed up. Calling her a broad was not the best idea. Although I did giggle a little while watching her treat you like a naughty Kindergartner who missed his little nap.

*knuckle knocks* to Officer Jenkins.

I truly did enjoy the show when she wrote you a ticket for a moving violation. I honestly did not realize that a man’s voice could go so high. Have you thought about auditioning for the Vienna Boys Choir? I hear they’re looking for sopranos. You might have to shave your one facial hair though, will that be a problem?

In conclusion, the next time you decide to act like a prick while driving down South, remember that not all women will be as friendly and restrained as I was today. Next time, you might get your ass beat down by a woman in the middle of the street while all the other women cheer and honk their horns in support. And don’t be thinking that a man will come to your aid. This is the South. They know better than to mess with the women.
So pull up your Big Girl Panties and grow a set. Ass Clown.

[Editor’s Note: Matt is having heart palpitations right now. This is my second traffic incident in a week. Neither were my fault. I can’t help it that I attract Ass Clown’s like a magnet.]

Can I Have Fries With That Attitude?

I need to bitch for a moment. Please keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times during this rant. Thank you. I picked Maia up from preschool today and in order to put a stop to the incessant whining and begging, I agreed to go to McD’s for lunch. Please no hate mail. I’m aware that giving into the whining is bad parenting. You weren’t in the car having your ears assaulted by the shrieking, so stuff it.

I get to McD’s and wait in the usual 30 minute line for the drive-thru because I’m lazy and don’t want to go inside, where the whining will start again when she sees the indoor germ breeding farm playground. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with this particular McD’s. They are S-L-O-W like molasses! And rude. Don’t even get me started on the level of rudeness that these idiots display. Every time I bite my tongue to keep from screaming out at them: I understand that your job sucks. I understand that you go home at night smelling like old french fries. I understand that your paycheck barely covers the rent on your government subsidized housing and consequently there isn’t enough left over for toothpaste. I get that. But let’s not take it out on the world at large, m’kay? I just want my freaking double cheeseburger with a medium fries and hold the attitude. I want to scream this, but I refrain. I don’t want to come home and find some special sauce on my burger, if you know what I mean. It just chaps my ass that they can’t even acknowledge your presence at the window. Is it too much to ask for a “Hi. That will be $14.07 please.” Side note- $14 at McD’s, that’s madness. Things did not go smoothly today at good ole McD’s. First there was the whole wait-in-line-for-30-damn-minutes thing, then I finally make my way up to the little intercom to order. The screen that displays your order is broken. I know what this means. It means that my order is going to be wrong. I speak slowly and clearly, as though giving my order to a child. Then I wait. And wait.

Finally I hear “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” For Real? I repeat it. S-L-O-W-L-Y and C-L-E-A-R-L-Y. Then I wait. And wait.

And I hear “Did you say a large coffee?”. What the HELL?! No, you over-paid ass clown. I repeated that I wanted a small strawberry milkshake. Small. Strawberry. Milkshake. “We don’t have strawberry, only vanilla.”

God in Heaven, take me now. Just take me.

I finally finish my order, hear her repeat it back to me and know that it does not matter. It will be wrong when I receive it. I know this. I’ve accepted that this is a test of my ability to control my temper. God is testing me. I really wish he didn’t have so much faith in me. We wait another 20 minutes in between placing our order and the first window. Twenty minutes. 2-0. Insanity. Mase is screaming, Maia is screaming, and I’ve developed a tic in my left eye. Maybe it’s an aneurysm. I should only be so lucky. I finally make it up to pay and hand over my check card. The lady stares at it for a minute then looks back at me. What the HELL? It’s a check card. You swipe it through the little machine and it will pay for my food. Just like magic. Except…

Our credit card machine is broke. We can only take cash.”  I stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to laugh and say Just Kidding. She didn’t. The tic was getting worse. Maybe it’s a brain hemorrhage.

I had to ask. “How long has the credit card machine been broken?”.

“All day.” And with those two words, the tic migrated over to my right eye as well.

“Am I being punked? Where’s Ashton?” She looked confused. Apparently there’s no cable television in her government subsidized housing. Good.

“So, like, do you have cash or what?”.  She actually looked irritated.

“I’m confused as to why I waited 30 minutes to place my order, then it took another 10 minutes for you to get my order right. Then I had to wait another 20 minutes to get to this window. And not one time. NOT ONE DAMN TIME did anyone say anything about the credit card machine being broke. Why is that? WHY IS THAT?”.  I barely even took a breath while speaking, I was that pissed.

“I just told you.” She said it and then she smiled.  She smiled.

I had to take a deep breath and say a little prayer that her blood spatter wouldn’t stain my seats when I committed homicide. “Yes you did. Now let me tell you a little something. How hard would it be to march your over-paid ass out to the intercom and put up a little sign letting people know that your credit card machine is broken? Would that be hard? You could have somebody else spell the big words for you. I’d be happy to spell a few words for you right now. Wanna hear them?”

“‘Scuse me?” She really looked offended.

“Did I stutter? Did. I. Stutter? I understand that this is probably going to be your career, and that sucks for you. Don’t take it out on the rest of us.”

“You need to take your little screaming brats home and get out of my line.” Then she flicked one of her fingernails at me.

I didn’t yank her head through the window and separate her weave from her head. I wanted to. Boy did I want to. But in my county you can only take those Anger Management classes once per year to get out of a conviction for misdemeanor assault. And let’s face it- the year is young my friends, the year is young. So I settled for rolling up my window when her hand came out to give me back my check card. It wasn’t my fault that her 5 inch long fake fingernail got caught in the window. It certainly wasn’t my fault that she yanked her hand back and ripped the fake nail off. Not my fault at all. But it did make me smile.

She started it. Ass Clown.

It’s A Southern Thing

You know that old saying “You can take the girl out of the South but you can’t take the South out of the girl?” Well, it’s true my friends. And make no mistake about it- I am a Southern girl. And proud of it. I know what ya’ll are thinking. I might be a good Southern girl, but unfortunately my inner diva, Buffy, is not. As a good Southern girl I believe in turning the other cheek. Buffy, on the other hand, believes in a bitch slap for a bitch slap.

I got into a little bit of a tiff this weekend with a lady who lives down the street from us. They just moved into the neighborhood and they are obviously not from the South. They have a daughter about Maia’s age and I thought it would be nice to go and introduce them to each other. Being the Southern gal that my mama raised me to be, I took a housewarming gift. I chose a very pretty plant garden in a gorgeous bowl. We walked down the street and Maia rang the doorbell. She was so excited to meet the little girl. While waiting for someone to answer the door, I heard yelling from inside the house. Lots of yelling. With some naughty words thrown in. By this point, I’m looking around trying to decide if it’s too late to run away. A second later the door is thrown open and all that I could do was smile and say “Welcome to the neighborhood.” I introduced myself and Maia and handed her the plant garden. She took it with a most distasteful look on her face. Who doesn’t like a plant garden? Seriously.

“We don’t like plants in the house. They’re messy.”

Wow. I was shocked. Talk about no manners. I stared at her for a moment, not quite sure how to respond to that. Maia chose that moment to speak up and ask where the little girl was and if she could play with her. The mom actually stepped outside so she could close the door behind her. Oh. My. Word. Then she said,

“No offense, but I choose my daughter’s friends carefully. I don’t want her growing up to be a plastic Barbie doll, prom queen.”

What the hell? No offense? You’re calling my kid a plastic barbie doll and you don’t mean any offense? Oh, it’s on bitch. So I responded (well, really Buffy did but I’ll take credit) “That’s okay, really. I’m pretty choosy about my daughter’s playmates as well. Just based on meeting you, I don’t think they’ll be spending any time together.”  And the bitch came back with “I just don’t believe in that Southern girl crap. I want my kid to know that she can do anything she wants, be anything she wants. She doesn’t have to be this little cookie-cutter, Martha Stewart wanna-be homemaker.”


She continued with “I mean, no offense or anything.”

To which I had to reply “Oh, of course, no offense taken. I don’t mind being called a cookie-cutter Martha Stewart wanna-be homemaker. No more than you should mind being called a Tasteless, Low Class, Misogynistic disgrace to the neighborhood….but no offense intended. So please, feel free to go back to screaming at your family at the top of your lungs. The rest of us will just pretend we don’t hear you and hope our children don’t repeat any of the words from your extensive four letter vocabulary. Classy!”

I retrieved my nice plant garden, grabbed Maia‘s hand and marched off that porch. Halfway down the driveway, Maia said: “Mama, I don’t think I want to play with that little girl. Her mommy is really rude.”

Out of the mouths of babes. At least my daughter is being raised properly- with manners and class. Plastic barbie doll, my ass.


Today I have a lovely plant garden on my dining room table and it’s serving to remind me that I am proud to be a Southern woman. It’s also reminding me that the next thing I leave on my new neighbor’s doorstep will be in a brown paper bag and quite possibly will also be on fire.


Mase turning One this week has made me think. My kids are getting older. Theoretically so am I, but alas I’m still a toned and tanned 25 year old….at least in my alcohol induced magical mirror. This past 22 months of enforced sobriety for pregnancy and nursing has really sent my self esteem plummeting down to the realm of non-existence.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall…..who the hell is that fat lady???

Mama’s gotta get her sexy back this year. I just can’t be going around looking like this anymore, it’s not right. It’s not even that I have extra pounds to shed, cause I was careful when I was pregnant with Mase. See, with Maia, I took that whole “eating for two” thing a little too literally. I gained 45 pounds…and she came early. I was a size 2 before getting knocked up with Maia and gaining 45 pounds on a 5 foot 4 frame was majorly painful. It took me 2 years to lose all the weight and get back down to a size 4. Then I got knocked up again with Mase. But this time I bypassed the brownies and hot fudge cake…mmmmm….and watched my diet a little more carefully. I didn’t restrict essential calories, don’t want any hate mail from the granolas. I just used some self-restraint and said no to that 4th piece of pizza. I gained 21 pounds with Mase and lost almost all of it within the first 6 months. Unfortunately, losing the weight was the first battle. Today, I weigh exactly the same as I did before I got knocked up with Mase. But none of my old clothes fit. I have lumps, bumps and dimples in places that were not lumpy, bumpy or dimply before. I know what you’re thinking…She needs to exercise. Right???  There lies the problem. I hate to exercise. H-A-T-E it. I played competitive soccer for almost 18 years. I went to college on a soccer scholarship. I exercised and trained every. single. day. of my life for almost 18 years. Now I’m done. The only way you will see me running now is if someone is chasing me. And even then, I might just take my chances. Rest assured, if you see me running in one direction- pay attention because something very bad is happening in the other direction.

So what’s a pale, lumpy chick to do? Buy new clothes to hide the lumps? Liposuction? Yesterday I signed up for a 10 week pilates class. The perky little instructor talked me into it. After 10 weeks, I better look like her or I’m demanding a refund. The best part? Free childcare. Sweet! Of course, the Starbucks right next door might pose some willpower issues but they make light Frappaccinos so it’s all good, right?! That helps with the bumpy, lumpy and dimply part. What about the frumpy? I don’t know about you guys, but I spend 100% of my money on my kids. I don’t buy new clothes for myself. And when I do, it’s usually stuff that’s on sale. My closet looks like a clearance rack. I should nominate myself for What Not To Wear. Stacey and Clinton- if you ever read this, COME HELP ME. Matt gave me money for Christmas to buy myself some new clothes so I did get some new winter items. I went through my very small selection of spring/summer clothes yesterday and talk about depressing. Nothing fit, or didn’t fit right, or was just old and out of style. I considered just throwing it all out and just going Roper Style wearing moomoos and flip flops but I can’t bring myself to do something so drastic. I must turn this downward spiral back around again.
I’ve made some baby steps already. I got my hair cut and highlighted. I bought some new make-up. I bought a new purse.

I’m bringing sexy back this year.


I know you all are so excited to learn more about me…quit laughing, I hear you….STOP!

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Who has time to wrap?? Geesh, what am I- super mom? No, seriously though- Santa doesn’t wrap presents at our house. He leaves them in 4 distinct piles with the kids stockings in the front. I found these great stockings with little chalkboards on the front that we write the kids names on so they know which pile is theirs immediately. Each stocking is different- we have a santa, a snowman, a reindeer and an elf. Each child gets one gift from us (the parentals) and I wrap those for under the tree. Matt and I wrap our gifts to each other. The kids gifts from my parents and my sister are also wrapped under the tree….cause I always pick them out, buy them, wrap them and then THEY get the credit….the things we do for family.

2. Real tree or Artificial? Artificial, two of our kiddos have seasonal allergies and the real trees seem to set them off with asthma issues.

3. When do you put up the tree? The first weekend in December, so we’re doing it this Saturday. The kids are so excited. Matt, not so much since he is the one who has to climb in the attic to haul it all downstairs. Just call him the Jackass…er, I mean the pack mule. No really, that’s what I meant to say.

4. When do you take the tree down? By the time January rolls around and I’ve spent a full month trying to keep children from knocking down the tree or stealing the ornaments or eating the fake candy canes….I am sooooo ready to take down that tree.  So we normally pack away our Christmas decor the first weekend in January.

5. Do you like eggnog? Can’t have it, severe lactose intolerance in my nursing son and myself keeps me from enjoying such wonderful delicacies. And don’t bother telling to drink Soy Nog. It’s not the same. No matter how much Rum you add to it.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Cabbage Patch preemie doll…oh how I loved that doll! I still have it and now Maia plays with it.

7. Hardest person to buy for? Hmmm. Nobody really.  I always know what to get Matt, usually because he’s been dropping hints for months. And both sets of grandparents get a photo book from the year. And our siblings get a nice bottle of wine. So I guess really it’s the kids teachers who are the hardest to buy for.

8. Easiest person to buy for? All of my kids.

9. Do you have a nativity scene? We have the Little People one. I love it.

10. Mail or email Christmas cards? Snail mail. Nothing better than getting a Christmas card in the mail. I do photo cards every year. I start in October trying to get a good picture of all four kids and by the time December 10th rolls around I scramble to pick one where nobody is crying, everyone is kind of looking near the camera and nobody has their finger in their nose. Seriously.

11.Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I can’t think of one. Matt is very good at gift giving. He knows exactly what I like and he hits the mark every year.

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? I have 2. I adore National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. It’s hands down my favorite Christmas movie because I can see my family in the movie. That is my life folks. My other favorite is A Christmas Story. I remember watching it with my family as a kid and it’s just become a tradition. The kid with his tongue stuck to the flag pole still cracks me up to this day. Mainly because it brings back vivid memories of me talking my sister into trying it. Ahhhh, the memories.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I hate crowds and I’m not real fond of people either(I know, shocking isn’t it?) so I start early. I’m completely done already and have been done for weeks. The kids gifts are safely hidden away and Matt’s is hidden at my sister’s house cause he’s a way bigger snoop than the kids.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? It depends on the gift giver and who the new recipient would be.  I try to make sure the original gift giver will never ever find out I have re-gifted something given to me. Usually I donate anything that doesn’t fit or I don’t need or want unless it’s something that I know is perfect for someone else and then I wait for a birthday to regift it to them.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? We do a Christmas brunch. My parents come every year and so does my younger sister who lives right near us. I make a French Toast Bake and a Breakfast Casserole. My sister makes Biscuits and Gravy. It’s soooooo good. Matt and I host Thanksgiving at our house and usually have around 30 people. I just can’t take another huge dinner production so close so we started a new tradition a few years ago.

16. Lights on the tree? White lights. And they must twinkle. The twinkling lights keep small children quiet, with wide eyed wonder, as they stare slack jawed at the tree for hours. It’s like Baby Prozac. If the twinkling stops, or heaven forbid, the strands of lights get off sequence- chaos ensues and that Baby Prozac turns into Baby Crack.

17. Favorite Christmas song? Ooh, I love them all. I turn on the Christmas music right after Thanksgiving and we listen to it until January. I love the ones that send me back to childhood- like Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, Silent Night, Frosty the Snowman…. I love singing them with my kids.

18. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer’s? Tequila, Gin, Rum, Vodka, Prozac…..isn’t that how the song goes?? Is that just in my house??

19. Angel on the tree top or a star? We have an angel. My mom gave us the angel from my childhood and the kids love it.

20. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? The kids open their traditional Christmas PJ’s on Christmas Eve after we come home from church. I buy them matching PJ’s every year to wear on Christmas morning. Makes such cute Christmas morning pictures. I usually tuck a small little gift inside the PJ’s for them to find each year. They also each get to open their Christmas ornaments and put them on the tree on Christmas Eve. Every year since they’ve been born (or placed here for the adopted ones) I have bought them an ornament that reflects what they liked that year. Transformers, Dora, Thomas the Train…we have an eclectic tree each year. This year it’s Star Wars, Batman, Wall-E and Elmo.

21. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? The sense of selfishness that seems to prevail. I hate that. I want my kids to know what the season is REALLY about and not just to expect huge globs of presents. We used to do large, extravegant Christmas mornings complete with a ton of gifts that the kid didn’t really need or necessarily want. Now we do 3 gifts per child from Santa, 1 gift from Matt and me, and 1 gift from their siblings. Then they get a good gift from my parents and my sister (remember I pick them out, buy them, wrap them and put them under the tree- of course they’re good gifts).

22. Favorite ornament theme or color? I used to have a theme. I used to do a gorgeous tree with burgundy and gold accents. Oh, it was so pretty. Sigh….now it’s all about the kids. But, as my mom reminded me last year, the joy on my little one’s faces when they pull out their favorite ornaments is what it’s all about. I see the same joy on their faces that I remembering feeling as a child when mom pulled out all of our homemade ornaments. And that’s what it’s all about. One day I will have a theme again and I’ll be sad that there are no more kids ornaments on our tree.

23. Favorite for Christmas dinner? We just do our Christmas morning brunch and then maybe some appetizers for later in the day. That’s it. Simple and fast so we can enjoy the day as a family instead of slaving in the kitchen all day long. I remember my mom having to rush from watching us open our gifts to cooking like a madwoman for Christmas dinner. She told me long ago not to make the same mistake. Enjoy the day, enjoy my kids, enjoy my family…that’s what Christmas should be about.

24. What do you want for Christmas this year? Nothing. There’s nothing I need. I’d rather save the money towards our family vacation in the spring. Matt will get me something small- probably some new perfume or something useful- like a new coffee pot. I got him a Digital photo frame for his new office at work. Matt, if you’re reading this- pretend to be surprised or next year you get ex-lax brownies. A couple of years ago we got a joint gift- a 46″ HD TV for the family room but this year there’s really nothing that we need.

So there you go- more than you ever wanted to know about my family.