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To the two ladies who sat next to us at the beach today. I owe you both a beer. Or 7…
Sorry I scared you. I’m sure the last thing you came to the beach for was to watch the lunatic woman next to you retching uncontrollably. Sorry I yelled too but I was getting frustrated that everyone was panicking and asking me questions that I physically couldn’t answer unless the only answer they were looking for was “huaaaaaaargghhhh ::pant pant::HUARRRRGGHHHHHH! I do love knowing that they worry about me though. I’m usually pretty confident that my kids wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.

I’m also sorry that my kids are assholes. They aren’t at the age where bickering is cute anymore and much to all our dismay, beating them isn’t socially acceptable. Amazing as it may seem, it was easier when they were toddlers. The initial set up at the beach is not unlike the melee that happens when all 10 of us are seated in a restaurant.  Depending on the degree of the magnetic pull based on the current lunar cycle, the tilt of the earth on its axle and the mood of a few key players in my house, the arranging can go as slick as Anthony Weiners well….you know. Or it can be more traumatizing than a my daughters watching Kanye dis T Swift on live tv.

Today was a Kanye/TSwift kind of day. There was a large audience, differing opinions, a few tears, some swear words…all very dramatic.

But at least we aren’t like the family sitting on the other side of me. Douche canoe  dad of the year award goes to the toolbag who tossed his screaming daughter into that water in hopes of making her see just how fun it really is. Imagine being about 5 years old, freshly spackled in 900+ sunscreen and innocently digging to China with a plastic spoon, when suddenly you’re being helplessly thrown into shockingly cold, tumultuous water that may or may not be infested with the spawn of Sharknado. The water is dark. You can’t see your feet and your father is laughing maniacally at you while splashing what you swear is salty acid in your face screaming ISINT THIS FUN???!!!!! No wonder the poor kids screaming brought the lifeguard over to inquire. In fact you ladies left over an hour ago and that kid is still sobbing and most likely scarred for life.  Should that father get stung by a jelly today, there will be a LONG line of people more than happy to pee on him…in fact I should probably drink some more water.

Where were we….oh yes..assholes….teenagers…pre-teens and tweens…you name it. I got it…kinda like Pamela Anderson and STDs.
It was easier when they were babies, I tell ya. Back in the day we had a routine. We had assigned seats. We had 5 point harnesses. Now…every day, my life is like the running of the bulls. The screaming, the chaos, the blood…

Teenagers suck. They suck the food from your fridge. The gas from your car. The money from your pocket.The joy from your life. Long gone are the days of fuzzy jammies,  tickle time, snuggles and random acts cuteness.  No longer do we hear from the other room, “your my bestest friend ever, we’re gonna live together when we grow up too! ” now it’s commonplace to hear things such as “I’m going to stab you, with a knife, right through your heart! IF YOU EVEN HAVE ONE!!!!” In fact, just moments ago, Cody told Ryan to “eat it” and shoved his face in the sand. I pretended not to notice. Ryan then went off and dumped ketchup all over Charlie’s fries so Charlie goes and stomps across all of Jordyns neatly arranged towels..the cycle repeats itself over and over. Its the circle of life, Simba.

I used to tell my kids all the time “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.” Today I told my son I was going to sew his face shut. And by God, if I had my sewing kit here in my beach bag the deed would be done.

Yep, memories….love them…I used to think my kids were so sweet and cute i could just eat them up. Now, I wish I had! What the fuck. Seriously. I don’t have teenagers, I have mean-agers.  I have a daughter who yells at me when I tell her how nice she looks, a son who won’t let me touch him and a few that I’m ready to start my own Hunger Games with.  My eldest boy, lets just say one of us is going to end up locked up…probably me…in a Rubber Ramada…
There are some days when  I want to go reminisce about their little people days. I can imagine it now…Mommy…why is that scary looking drunk woman wearing pajama bottoms and one shoe staring at us all playing in the ball pit?? SECURITY!!
So, as I sit here on the beach, the hubbies chair next to me is empty because the teenagers needed a ride to work . The OCD child is shaking out towels for the 900th time and strategically placing them in a perimeter around us. My biffle (best friend for life)  is snoozing on the big blanket at the center of the towel  moat. The two witless boys are taking french fries and placing them in a circle around them in the hopes of being attacked by a flock of rabid seagulls, causing the lady nearby to glare evilly at me, as I pretend to not notice. Again.

They aren’t always assholes though. You ladies just missed out on a good moment when one of my little crotchfruit pulled out a bottle of bubbles that I got them, for shits and giggles, yesterday. She’s sitting here lying on a towel blowing bubbles discussing her summer read book with her big sister. Then she asks her if today is a good day for sailing. So big sister sailor goes on to explain that despite being gorgeous, a day like this would be difficult because of all the luffing that would require a lot of tacking.(whatever the hell that means) And she is actually listening. No one is yelling, fighting or bleeding. The seagulls have moved on to the tourist family about 100 yards away who’s kid dumped a whole bag of pretzel sticks. No Park Rangers have come to  us with ding and dong in handcuffs. (yet) The screaming next to us has stopped. I don’t see the kid…she might be off on a walk but  I heard rumors she was completely buried in the sand by a disgruntled local. And as the bubbles float by, I look at her face. I do miss that awesome toddler she was…her chubby cheeked face and the blond ringlet hair…but the beautiful young lady she is growing into is pretty damn awesome too. Bitchy, but awesome. In fact every  one of them are growing into amazing young adults and although the teen years have thus far left us all feeling more abused than Octomoms uterus, we will make it. Better, stronger, closer.. .So yeah…sorry they were assholes .. its a phase, they will get over it…and someday when they have kids, and those kids become teenagers, they will be assholes too..I know this for a fact, Simba, because its the mother fucking circle of life!

So, Hakuna Matata bitches! Live, laugh and love!


An Open Letter of Apology to my Teenage Children

I’m sorry you think your life is so terrible that you can’t wait to turn 18 and leave. I’m sorry you think I am a “creeper and stalker.” I’m sorry that you hate how I am aware of current trends and technologies. And I am sorry that you are mad that I am not one of the “chill” parent who don’t care what their kids are up to.

You can’t wait to leave this house, eh? Just remember, when I was 18 and got mad that my parents made me be home before 11pm, made me pay for my car, made me do my own laundry, made me got to college, made me work and made me responsible for my own actions and choices. So, I left home. Cool, right? Awesome! Freedom! I struggled with three jobs, rent, and lost my car because I couldn’t afford gas, insurance or repairs. I had to drag my laundry to a Laundromat and remember no car. So I drug it in the driving rain, freezing snow, blazing sun and pitch dark.( By the way, it sucked. Big time.) Sometimes I did not have enough money for laundry. Or I would wash it and not have enough to dry it. Once, in the kitchen sink, I had to hand wash my work uniform (which, by the way, my sister paid for, because I was broke). I was running late, so I decided to dry it in the microwave even though it had metal buttons. It started smoking. I pulled it out, threw it out the second story window, and watched it as it spontaneously burst into flames and disintegrated in a pile of ashes and smoldering wet grass…I was REALLY late for work that day…There wasn’t much time for freedom because I had to work so much. And I had really crappy waitressing jobs because even back in the olden days, the first question on an application is “What college did you attend?” and “What Major/Degree?” not “What college did you quit going to because you wanted to be awesome and have freedom?” and “What degree did you attempt but never acquire because you had to work three jobs to pay for your awesome freedom?”

When I was a teenager, the words “creeper and stalker” were casually used to describe derelicts such as dirty minded old men who wore a trench coat over his birthday suit and thought he had something worth flashing to whomever was lucky enough to cross his path and the geeky kid at the school library who constantly watched what book you looked at so he could tell you he read it, and how it ended. Sadly, in this day and age, those words are used to describe violent sex offenders, pathological serial rapists and apparently also, middle-aged moms who keep their teenagers Twitter feeds on their phone so she can have a semblance of an idea of what’s going on in their complicated, angst filled lives. Go me. That’s an accomplishment. I actually got called both!

When I was growing up and computers were introduced in schools, my parents were like the Neanderthals. Computers were fire and they were scared shitless of it although they had an inkling that they were going to play an important role in the future. We were learning how to write code in the computer lab and they were still getting used to color television. Computers were too much for their dementia riddled brains to manage.( yes.. I thought my parents were old and out of touch too. And nosey. And obnoxious. And embarrassing.) To be honest, they never really caught on to the world wide web till long after I was married and had kids. But you forget. My parents were introduces to computers as adults. I grew up WITH computers. As the technology advanced, I did with it. And where I could have EASILY hid stuff from my parents on our old Commodore, I never needed to. They couldn’t even turn the damn thing on. But you? There isn’t much you guys can get past me. From things as simple as checking history, temporary files or cookies to the more advanced programs that I will not name and give up my hand. If I told you how easy was to check on you, you would throw your computer, phone and xbox out the window and lock yourselves in the closet. Forever. But it is with that same ease of access that I have, that others with less genuine intentions have as well…and I fear for you guys..

I keep tabs on you. Yes. But you have to understand for 9 months you grew inside me. Then for about 9-10 years you were practically, physically attached to me at all times because you were soul sucking toddlers that grew into whiny, needy kids. Then you started to branch out on your own and I had to let go and watch you wade through life in the 21st century. Now, you are, for all intent purposes on your own out there. And I get scared. I get nervous. As you grew up, I hopefully instilled values that will act as a compass in life steering you in the right direction. But, I still have to watch you on your way. I used to have Facebook. I perused in the backgrounds. I made you friend me so I could see what was on your page. But we have stepped into the next stage of life. You have evolved into tweeting young adults. Your world in 140 characters. Sometimes a complete sentence, sometimes coyly arranged symbols made to resemble something usually inappropriate or even an emoji . A steaming turd to tell the world you are pissed because just because. A hand showing the peace symbol to show that you too are a true believer of YOLO. Award winning images of stupid smiles, crossed eyes, a cookie, screenshots of your phone or pictures of your dog in a blanket so poignant that Ansell Adams himself would have ditched his landscapes to capture the life force of a Chihuahua wrapped in fleece if he only knew just how awesome it was. I haven’t made you add me. But I still watched your feeds. Like a good parent. Like a loving mother. Like someone who would stop at nothing to keep you safe and protected. Yes, I watched you. But did I ever have to approach you on it? Have I ever had to get involved? Have you ever gotten in trouble for anything other than being a slob or torturing your little brothers and sisters? No. I haven’t. And I attribute that to the fact that your father and I have raised amazing kids. In fact you are great kids. You make good, solid, responsible decisions. I don’t care what celebrity you are in love with, I don’t care about the new emojis just released, I don’t care how many F-bombs you drop. It’s a rite of passage. Im “chill” with it. I care who your friends are. I care who tweets bout getting high or drunk. I care who has loose morals and no self worth. I care not about the judgments you will make, but I care more about the pressures and expectations that may be put on you. I want to be prepared to deal with whatever comes your way. I want to be able to intervene with accurate knowledge and information.

I simply want to be your parent.

And for that… I’m not sorry… Not even close…


“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, as long as I’m living, my baby, you’ll be.”-

Robert N. Munsh – I’ll Love You Forever

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