If I should ever get a ring on my finger and if that ring is on my finger because I'm actually married and then if I pawn that ring because I get a divorce, I know exactly which kid would chose to live with me and which would decide to live with my good-for-nothing-ex.

You might be smarmy because you think all your kids would chose you over their other parent. Good for you. But I can read the writing on the wall and I can't pretend it doesn't hurt. At least I have one kid on my side. Actually, I feel really bad for the kid who picks me. It will be hard to fit in bartending, room service, culinary duties, house cleaning, car washing and landscaping around school work. It's just so much for one child to carry.

Divorce is so sad.

If I pick your nose, I love you. 

But I will not pick the noses of all the people that I love. This is what being a mother means. It means there are some noses that I will not only pick but want to pick. Nay, need to pick.

Shaken. Not stirred. Or just straight out of the bottle. I don't care anymore.

Kids are like MacGyver about being annoying. Give them something, anything and they'll turn it into the most annoying thing. Ever. An eraser, a glass of water, or a book. Doesn't matter. They look at it, pick it up and BAM! It's the most annoying thing you've ever seen in all your years on this godforsaken planet. Sometimes I'm annoyed to tears. It's like if you're being held captive and your interrogator just has bad breath but other than that, he's not really that bad. To the outsider, it seems like something one could handle without cracking. But after four years of their bad breath in your face, constantly, day in and day out, you finally snap and you can't handle it anymore. And if my kids are bad breath, then martinis are my breath mints. Cheers!

All that luxurious, healthy hair that you get during pregnancy falls out in clumps after your baby is born.

They don't tell you that.

As if you have this lovely hair for the rest of your life. Instead every shower is horrifying and you need to keep drano on standby. There's a metaphor for motherhood in here somewhere. Get over yourself and find your own punch line. I'm too tired from catering to my bazillion kids to piece it together. Do you want me to wipe your ass too?

Revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

The only thing that is keeping me going this morning is my plan for the future. I can't punish my kids for waking up in the 5's this morning or for staying awake until the 10's last night. I can't get mad at them for demanding no less than 4 times that I get them things while I'm trying to have my first coffee of the day. I can't begrudge them wiping their butts while they complain or listening to their dramatic, tortured cries as I simply put a shirt over their heads. And so on. There is no recourse. At this time. But as they cry, whine, shout, demand and hit I am formulating a plan.

As exhaustion sinks in, I am scheming.

With every kick to the face and every 'I hate you', I am strategizing.

 I refuse to be caught with my pants down, like I was with the toddler/preschool years. As my children grow into teens, I will be ready for sweet, sweet revenge. The moment they start sleeping in and I no longer can (after years of sleep deprivation have trained my body not to even hope for deep sleep again), I will be there, at the foot of their beds with a bullhorn. Or, when I drop them off at school, after years of of having to struggle to get them out the door and listening to them yell for the whole drive, I will be there, shouting out my window to them in their school yard that they forgot their heavy flow tampons. When they are settled in on the sofa, calmly watching their favorite show, laughing and enjoying themselves, I will be there, turning the television off and running away with the remote. If revenge is a dish best served cold, I will be there in a decade with a sadistic smile on my face saying; 'let's eat, bitches'.

Sleep Training Technique

Turns out it's my natural state to be knocked up. I seem to have found myself in this predicament often in the last 4 years. And each and every time I am older and it is more difficult. This time around, I am having back problems. I mean, can't-walk-standing-up-straight-back problems. There is a reality to having young children and being unable to walk properly.

The other night, the middle child awoke and when I determined that ignoring her wasn't going to make the problem go away, I got up and hobbled to her room, picked her up and tried to carry her over to the spare bed that's in her room. I found that carrying her was nearly impossible and decided to try gently tossing her onto the bed instead. I came up short. She did not land on the bed.

In other news, the middle one is now sleeping through the night or is too terrified to call out for me. But either way...

The only thing I'm dripping with is little girls...

There is A LOT that I can relate to in this song.  Like, I get why she drinks alone at the end of the day.