My life is just like a soap opera filmed in a psychiatric ward.

I’ve always wondered what my ratings would be like if I had my own reality TV show. A few years ago, it would have been a mix of Intervention, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and small clips of Scared Straight.

Now, it would be a category 5 hurricane of Modern Family, Awkward, and The Walking Dead. (TWD would just be me while shuffling to the kitchen at 5am for coffee. Its unnatural.)

Between JHubbs and I, we have 4 chit’lins – ages ranging from 6 to 8. Not only do we have all of them every other weekend, but I have mine (little booger man) as much as possible, and hes allowed to have his son, Con-man, usually every weekend.

Did I forget to mention we live with his parents while we get back on our feet?

Have you ever locked yourself in the bathroom claiming to have a belly ache/explosive “machine-gun-shits” just to get a minute of peace? You have. Don’t fib.

“Okay kids! Time to play ‘Don’t move, don’t speak and stare at the TV while Misty has a smoke before she rips out her hair and writes her last will and testament!'” It usually works.. Until someone starts tattling that someone else spoke, moved, or my favorite – breathed.

It can be hectic, messy, and just plain crazy while all of the wee ones run the house. We have 2 sensitive boys, one tattle-tale, and a cuddle monster who desperately needs your attention. So, when we have Princess, little c-bug, Con-man, and little booger man all together, we try our best to give them as much attention as each one deserves, while trying to ignore the pleas of the other kids complaining that we didn’t see what they were yelling for us to witness 38 times.


/Face palm

One thing we do need to work on is sleeping arrangements. Like I said, we are staying with the ‘rents while we save some much needed cash, so we have very limited space. We try not to have them all sleep in the same bed, because it’s only a matter of time until the sleep-over mutates into “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”.

I refuse to let this happen. Keep your little man parts in your pants, and the same goes to you, little lady. No peek-a-boo shows going on HERE. /glare of death

My family life is definitely handing me lemons lately, and instead of making lemonade, I somehow messed up the recipe and made myself a ‘Fuck-My-Life” latte.

I’m thinking the dash of self-pity is where I went wrong. Next time, definitely substituting it with a pinch of Suck-It-Up-Sally.

Recipes can be fickle.