Don't judge me unless you have shadowed my life; and if you have first prove yours is perfect.
My life is great.
On film it looks perfect, but pictures don't tell a complete story.
I have my moments more than most. Perfect Priscilla's piss me off.
My patience is for sh*t, I scream like a banshee in a train wreck
and look crazy 90% of our school day.
I pop and creek more than the floor boards in an old house and thanks to Epilepsy I'm a living slinky.
My kids are not afraid of the dark or Horror Movies because they live with a Horror Movie.
We don't do school on Friday's because I need a three day weekend.
When I die; the children have elected the theme song, Ding, Dong, The Witch Is Dead, and I couldn't care less.
They are respectful.
They are not stupid. They WANT to live; a long life.
My neighbors do a body count when we leave the house; checking all are alive and counted for.
Yet, they never speak to me directly. Witch's are bad and can hurt you, apparently.
Well, so can nosy. Know that!
Evil looks do get your point across. I have them down to a fine art.
The only neighbor I speak to has assured me no one wants to come near my house.
So, well done me! The little thug fu**ers that break in houses are afraid of mine.
Yes. I tell the kids I'm going to pike them, or remove their heads and kick them down the street. I threaten to choke the life from them at least once a day.
They, apparently are not threatened or worried.
So get off my freaking line. If you don't want to hear it, don't listen.
Back to; nosy rosy dies in the end of every movie people.
Cancer sucks. My kids call me MOMBIE,
and on most days I fit that title.
They understand The Book of REVELATIONS, and are perfectly aware it will happen any day in this house if assignments aren't complete.
My husband says "you a Mean Mommy."
People keep asking me to join their gym or exercise programs. Heifer's, I exercise everyday lifting this phone to watch all of you do it. My arms are exhausted by the end of the video. When we're done, I must have a cup of coffee and a bear claw, just to recuperate.
I'm fat and DON'T CARE! I was skinny for years, still got cancer, and I didn't get any freaking RICHER.
Arrow will eat almost anything and does not care if anyone else eats or not. I cringe when I think of teenage years. In an Apocalypse, he will survive.
My son the streaker.
He loves being naked.
So screaming at him; like a pit bull on crack; is life.
“Put clothes on, company's coming, put your shirt on; your friends are here”;
when at the dinner table;
“put your freaking pants on, nit wit BEFORE you answer the door!”
Maybe it's not me keeping the neighbors away.
Due to Arrow's, erratic behavior they may all be suffering from PTSD.
I'm constantly telling him to close the freaking blinds when getting in or out of the shower. It seems he wants the whole
w🌎rld to see his electric underwear.
If he ever wore his clothes correctly I'd scream body snatcher. His shirt is always inside out and backwards, so are his shorts. You gotta love him!
He may not survive me.
My daughter's and their smart a** attitudes are going to get them beat down.
Their mouths are as unfiltered as mine and that is probably going to get me beat down.
Getting any of our girls up before noon is like, Bathing A Cat. Some days it just doesn't happen.
They're meaner than a Pimp on Payday; to each other; but can't figure out why I'm ever angry with them.
If AppleJac doesn't learn some homemaking skills, I'm dropping her off at the closest shelter.
Oh, yes. I give great spankings when needed. It can be entertaining. So if I raise my hand or start counting, my kids can clear a room faster than a drunk Proctologist.
My husband is broken.
For real. He split his biscuit can (aortic dissection), and is limited in all activities.
He got on my nerves before his break, but now we are together so much I want to rent him out to Hookers For Hire, or the Bopping Book Club.
We'd make back some of the income we lost from his illness, and I'd have a few night's a week to be with ME.
I love him. I do. He's a great husband and father, but he's also a self righteous, metro sexual, who has no sense of humor, or common sense. He, too, has a Smart Alec mouth, and does not know when to shut the h*ll up.
Sometimes I want to duct tape his head to his freaking chair and point him at a corner. Argue with the wall.
He is constantly at war with the neighbors over the yard.
Do not mow your yard, and leave the "trash grass", all over the sidewalk or get your "weeds" in our yard.
It activates his Agent Orange.
We really need to live on some acreage.
We have issues, but we love each other. We respect opinions because we are opinionated. We fight and we fight for each other. We listen to anything; period. We share concerns and worries. We don't demoralize or degrade. If we are wrong we apologize. We apologize often.
If you don't like our truths don't ask the questions.
We are not a Perfect family; just practically.