A Note to My Readers:

(And by Readers I mean my family and a few friends who know how shameless I am and therefore read out of fear of me asking them what they thought of my last blog.)

So I have chosen to abandon blogging on behalf of the V4K so that I may take a few more personal liberties in my content and well, just be more self-indulgent I suppose. Those of you who know me well know I consider myself to be utterly hilarious, even though I am about the only one. Okay, I still can get a chuckle out of the Rock Star and Itty Bitty still finds me funnier than her own farts so I am in good standing there. In addition to finding myself funny I also find my life funnier than ever. I mean the things I deal with in any given day - I don’t know how one cannot laugh out loud. Perhaps only a mother up to her eyeballs in poop, snot, breakfast still on the table at lunch, and lunch at dinner, missing (fill in the blank), endlessly empty milk jugs/toilet paper holders/ detergents of all sorts so on, and so on, find these sorts of ramblings entertaining. I know I find great comfort in reading about other mothers still in their PJ’s at 2pm trying to have a phone conversation with the cable company with children screaming in the background – at which point candy makes it’s appearance.

Candy.

Yes. I bribe the Rock Star with candy, ice cream, popsicles, TV and chocolate milk to have a phone call. He knows it. I know it. We deal. The phone rings and he comes screaming down the hall from the depths of quite play shrieking for something with sugar. I make one or two feeble attempts to act as though I am in control which is really me just trying to decide which form of bribery will buy me the adequate amount of time needed for the call. Yes, this is the truth, I have put it out there and now my loving Aunt (yeah, you…) who is convinced I am raising out-of-control, ego-centric, manipulative brats has my admission and can begin dealing. So There. I guess while I am at it…I also let my kids sleep with us whenever they want, I laugh at burps and farts, I use TV to babysit, and I allow the Rock Star to pee in the backyard and get up each night somewhere between eight and twenty-seven times asking for water, help peeing, a story, an episode of Seinfeld, to snuggle, to talk some more about our day, to inspect his toenails, a back scratch…pretty much whatever. I find the excuses hilarious. Yes, Yes, I know “But when he is 17…” When he is 17 I will make the hubs deal with it.

I am no longer ashamed to admit the children have taken over. They make the decisions. They rule the roost. They squawk, they get. Yes. It is my truth, right along with my fat ass, it is out there for the world to see. But it works for us. The kids are happy, The parents are happy, The dog is…well that’s another blog.

So here we go my friends. I will share my stories, my bits of wisdom from lessons learned, and ultimately document the immeasurable love I feel for my family.

Off to another day in which I plan to LMAO (if you are unsure as to what that means, ask the nearest teen).