Welcome to Toys R Us

My children have a ridiculous amount of toys. I weed thru them every couple months and the mountains have now formed in my basement. Realistically, I could open a small toy store. Every Easter, Christmas, Valentines Day, birthday hell even Groundhog Day, my family dumps loads of toys at my house. 

Every kid goes thru a few toy phases. Cashs first major toy obsession was Disney Cars. He had to have every single one and all cast members attended bedtime with him. My sister ran around NYC looking for Doc Hudson an almost impossible feat, and wept tears of joy when she finally found him. 

Next came Thomas the Train. Those fuckers aren't cheap. Don bought him a wooden birthday Thomas that cost damn near $30! He has a huge Rubbermaid bin full of wooden and battery operated along with a small bin that contains magnetic trains. There's that OCD again. Now we've become a Ninja Turtle Lair with a side of Hulk smash. 

My house is full of toys. Every where you turn. I can't contain them. We are busting at the seams. Every now and then I'll spaz the fuck out and start tossing shit until Cash cries that he NEEDS that baby teething ring. Then I'll wait until he goes to bed and I'll toss it all. The kid is so damn smart he wakes up and checks to make sure the shit is still where he left it. A meltdown ensues and I am forced to replace the toy just to get a moment of silence. The cycle continues. 

All I want is my house back, but I've come to the realization that until this monsters are out of my house I will continue to live in a daycare center. I just want one room where I can shove kids, toys, dogs and never have to look at a mess again. My house is never dirty, but you can bet your britches it's messy. Someone once made a comment to my best friend about how I should look at the background of the pictures I post before I post them because all she sees is a mess. Besides eat shit, all I have to say is, we live in our house. Kids are only kids once. You're guaranteed to step or sit on a toy but we wouldn't have it any other way.... Bitch. 

   

It's My Party and I'll Stress if I Want To

I was so happy to have both my kids in the summer. Perfect for outside birthday parties. My mother has a double lot so it's an awesome place for parties. Except the stupid weather in this stupid area is never consistent with the season and I always end up in freak out mode days before the party. 

Cashs first birthday predicted rain and I had to scramble last minute for a tent rental, it never rained. We lucked out with the 2nd and 3rd parties, the weather was good so we had them outside. Harlow's first predicted rain so like a lunatic I looked all over and ended up renting the hall at the church I belong to, again it never rained. Yea yea I belong to a church but I never go, I probably should, Lord knows I need Jesus. 

This year is the 4th and 2nd birthdays. The beginning of last week the weather app said rain. The middle of the week it said sun. By Thursday it was back to rain and 61. In the words of Cash "That's it. I'm done with you!" What the fuck is the point of a summer fucking birthday if I can't even have the fucking party out fucking side?! I never have to entertain the monsters at my moms because there is so much to do, so I had no plans on how to keep them all the hell away from me. Luckily after stalking the church for 2 days, I was able to use the hall again. 

I threw my hat in and booked the hall for Harlows party too. The lady asked if I wanted her to pencil is in just in case it's nice out. Now, I'm on the phone with her at 10pm Friday night. I'm over tired, annoyed, on my period and ready to hulk smash something. I took a breath and said "Use pen. We're taking it no matter what". I wanted to say "Fuck this fucking weather. It ruins everything I try to plan outside. Book it. If I have to do this again in August I will absolutely lose my shit". I figured the church going lady would call the pastor and schedule an exorcism instead of letting me use the hall so keeping calm was probably best. 

Every year I stress. Every year I want to cry. I'm like Tori Spelling, my party planning idol, I like going overboad for every party. I stress for a month. Yet I never take WNY weather into consideration. I just assume the weather Gods, who by the way is definitely a bipolar bitchy woman, will like me and bless me with sunshine. But every year she shits on me, a big "Fuck you Amber". Lesson learned. I shall win the war with the weather Gods from now on. We will be at the church hall for every birthday. Take that! 

  

Colic.. It's Not For Everyone

This post is inspired by a friend going through colic. It takes me back to Crabby ass Cash. My friend, we'll call her June as in June Clever, said that someone told her her feelings weren't normal. I'm here to tell her and all of you. It's TOTALLY FUCKING NORMAL!!! 
Colic is crying 24/7 for 3 months straight. Pure hell. It's the worst sound in the world and you think there's nothing in the world that you can do to make it stop. You're already going through a whirl wind of hormones that make you fucking bizerk, the crying is the final buckle on your straight jacket. 

You begin to despise everything your spouse does because he gets a break. He gets to go to work for 8 hours and your trapped alone with a crazy baby. I imagined myself smothering Don with a pillow just because he was breathing. I swore Cash hated me. Everyone else could calm him down except for me. I only lugged his big ass around for 9 months PLUS one extra week. I had my stomach sliced open to give him life. One would think he should be grateful and shut the hell up for 5 minutes so I can recollect my wits. Not for me. Everyone else but not me. 

When you think about getting in your car and running away as far as you can go with no cell phone, you're not alone. When you find yourself thinking about putting the baby outside with a sign saying "Return to Sender, Defective" you're not alone. When you temporarily hate your spouse and everyone/thing around you, you're not alone. And anytime you feel like you're alone, send me a message. I'm happy to reassure you, we all think the same things! 

No Rest For The Wicked

In all 4 years of being a mom last night was the absolute worst. Usually on Wednesday nights we have a slumber party at my moms. Yesterday morning I said we weren't going. 8pm rolls around and the kids want to go so we packed up and left. Now. I should know better then to throw off the routine. I also should know the 2 things that will always always always happen at my moms house. Dinner at 9pm at the earliest and the kids will never go to bed at a reasonable hour. I really fucked up. 

By 945 it was time to put Harlow to sleep. I take her up lay her down, give her the blankies and kitty and look for her binky. It's no where to be found. I only let her have it in bed and I always leave one at my moms. Nope not tonight. That pissed her right off. My mom and I rotated turns trying to calm her down. 1030 Chan finally gets her quiet. Then the hurricane hits. Hurricane Cash. He's over tired and rotten. He comes up begs me to lay with him and when I try to escape he has a melt down waking Harlow up. Now I'm pissed. Chan and I swap rooms and Cash falls asleep for her. Not miss Harlow. She doesn't fall asleep until midnight. 

I got an hour sleep and that's being generous. She woke up all fucking night long. "Binky binky binky". I put her in bed with me and she tossed and turned all night finally passing out around 730am and my alarm went off at 745am. Of course there's no binky so she refuses to nap so I'm stuck with a miserable rotten toddler. I double fucked myself. I will never forget a binky again. I take binkies away at 2. Cash did it cold turkey. She has less than 2 months left. However if I have to go thru a night like that again she can have the god damn thing until she's 15. 

"Screw you mom. I'll nap at 4pm and fight bedtime like the bitch that it is!"

   
 

Feast or Famine

Don and I have a weird way to grocery shop. We do it separately. He buys the dinners for the week, his lunches and breakfasts. I take care of the staples and things I like to eat. It started right after I had Cash. I joined weight watchers and had to eat on a point budget. It was much easier for me to shop on my own. 

Nothing and I mean nothing gives me rage like the rage I feel when I go to eat something I've purchased and its fucking GONE. For example, the time I caught Don using my $6 peanut butter in his protein shakes. Or when I turned around and he was making my oatmeal. Or when I went to make my $3 box of waffles only to discover he and Cash enjoyed the entire box. 

Now, I said I buy the staples and what I like to eat. I don't have many things that are not to be touched but the cavemen are aware of what's mine. So when I buy myself my expensive peanut butter, I buy the others the cheap shit. I buy the name brand waffles and they get the cardboard Great Value garbage. I usually always buy like that because when my husband with the never ending hunger sees what I've bought 9 out of 10 times he's going for it. This is why my grocery bill is always $150. I figure if I buy him his own he will leave mine the fuck alone. I couldn't be more wrong.

Dons theory is if it's sat untouched for a long period of time he's allowed to have it. No, no, no caveman. Did you pick it out? Did you buy it? Was it in your grocery bag and in your car on the ride home? NO! I find myself starving sometimes and I shouldn't have to because your a vulture. It's become a real problem. I've become desperate. I've considered hiding food under the floor boards. I don't mind sharing but for the love of Betsy there better be more than crumbs when I go to get it! 

Today, Harlow had a bag of fruit snacks. Really good ones too. She ate them all except for a few and she was carrying the bag around. Two fell out so I gave one to her and one to Cash. I took the bag, felt the last one and said who wants it? Then in slow motion I put it in my mouth while both kids and Don watched. Don was in shock. He said "I've never eaten the last of anything on the kids." Well guess what. I just did. It's feast or famine in this bitch and I finally won a round!

Cashs One Liners Part One

While I didn't want to come home last night I sure did miss my monsters. They waited up for me, I gave them their gifts, Peppa Pig car for Harlow and Incredible Hulk for Cash. Harlow gasped and said "oh my gosh", Cash said "I was hoping it was Raphael." I am so glad I fought thru a crowd of asshole tourists to get you this stupid $20 piece of plastic. In honor of his smart mouth I'd like to share of Cash one liners with you. 

"Man, Dodo (Courtney) moves a lot. Jays house, her compartment, now another house?! We're going to have to buy some outside toys because you know I don't have any there."

"Mommy don't make that face. I can see cracks around your eyes."

"Cash what's his real name?"                    "Felicia"                                                    "No his real name"                                    "Gorilla juice head. That's what mommy says his name is."

"Cash go to your room".                          "I thought you loved me".      

"Cash I have to walk Amma to her car it's dark out".                                           "Get a grip Amma. You'll find your way"

"Jill can you give me breakfast? Mommy didn't feed us again"

Mark the barber: "Cash take 3 suckers. 1, 2, 3".                                                     Cash: "I will take one more for sis. You know how she is"

"Harlow come here. Let's take a selfie"

"My name is Cash Michael Ranalli. Cash Money"

"Cash. Why would you do that?"            "I swallowed bugs and they made me bad"

"OK fine mommy. I'm going to California".                                               "How are you going to get there".            "An airplane".                                          "And who's going to pay for it".              "Somebody else"

Papa Steve: "Maybe Amma will go buy us some cookies. Well I'll probably have to go buy us some cookies".         Cash: (shaking his finger) "And don't you eat them in the car!"

Me: "Cash wait a minute. I can't do 10 things at once I'm not an octopus. Go clean up".     10 minutes later... "Cash go get your stuff for a nap".               Cash: " Mommy. I'm cleaning up I'm not an octopus"

Stay tuned for more famous one lines from my smart ass 4 year old! 

Hot and Homeless

I am not about the hot life. I need AC everywhere I go or I get angry. I hate to sweat. I hate to be sticky, I hate to stand in the sun, I hate to be hot. in fact I sometimes get violent when hot and walking in tight places with stupid ass tourists who stop every 5 seconds without looking at who is behind them. NYC smells but NYC really smells in the summer. The body odor could kill a cow and every corner smells like urine. 

Day one was in the 80s. Day two was in the 70s so it wasn't bad. Today was around 86. It felt like none of the stores had the AC on which made me not want to try anything on. And when I did I felt like a hot, sweaty, sloppy tourist. My clothes were sticking to me and my feet were so hot you could cook an egg on them. 

I will never understand how homeless people wear every piece of clothing they own when it's this hot out. Or foreigners for that matter. 

That leads me to the homeless of NYC. Now I understand there is a huge homeless population here. I get it. I've been here enough times to know they are on every street corner. They don't bother me. However, a coupleof them    definitely stood out this year. Walking back to the room Friday night, there were 3 people on the side of the road. A girl was sitting against a building, so high she was bent over and falling to the side. Her next door neighbor was on his knees ass up, pants down and some black tight undies swaying back and forth. Say no to drugs kids. Earlier in the day we saw a homeless woman with no shoes and toe nails that looked like hermit shells. WOOF. 

But the winner of the weekend is the dick. I saw a homeless mans dick. He was passed out on a bench in front of Madison Square Garden, pants below his ass, boxers with the hole wide open. I warned the others not to look. On the way back they looked and wanted to gauge their eyes out. Lesson learned. Pay more attention when Amber speaks. 

Just Say No

This is why you say no to drugs kiddies.  

 

Three Daughters and a Mom

Last year my mom started a new tradition. For Christmas she buys us plane tickets to NYC and we take a girls only trip. Yesterday was day one. Here's what's happened so far. 

We left for the airport at 430am Friday morning. My sister Alexa decided to skip sleeping all together. I got about 2 hours, my mom and Courtney had 3-4 hours. Recently, Alexa has developed really bad anxiety when she flies. She went to Vegas in May and threw up in a bag right before they landed. So at the airport she took a low dose Xanax, prescribed not from a drug dealer, and went to sleep. 

When we landed she was out of it. She was Bob Marley relaxed. Times 5. While we were on the subway she fell asleep, her hand lowered and her hot green tea landed upside down on the seat next to her and soaked Courtney. Like I said, low dose but the kid weighs 80lbs on a good day so it took her right down. 

I usually have a phenomenal sense of direction in NYC. I don't need maps or phones I can get us anywhere. Except for yesterday. I was so tired I couldn't find my way out of the hotel lobby. And fuck google maps. They get us so mixed up we walked in a circle and one point. My feet have never hated me so bad in all my 25 years of life. I have to go buy sneakers today just so I can walk again. 

I will never visit time square again in all my life. We only went to get the kids something from Toys R Us. I should've waited until I got off the plane and ran to Walmart. There are so many people there you can barely move. It makes me want to become a bull and plow through every picture taking asshole so I can get to my destination. The people dressed up in costumes make me want to throat punch them. Here's $10 let me take a picture with your smelly ass costume that barely resembles whatever the fuck it is you're trying to be. People waste so much money on that shit. 

New this year were girls wearing thongs with NYC painted on their asscheeks and the flag painted on their huge sloppy boobs. I like to believe they were collecting money for a boob lift because those suckers hung lower than a 90 year old mans balls. They each had their group of pimps standing behind them and after every picture they would go hand the boss the money. They would rub on people with their dirty hands as they walked by to get attention. I saw one play with the hair of a small child. If that were my kid I woulda knocked her  off those stripper shoes right on her fucking flat pancake ass. 

Stayed tuned. Today is day 2. Heading to the BK, Brooklyn!

Let's Talk About Laundry

Theres a problem in my house. It's called laundry. The pile never ends. I absolutely hate to do it but I hate putting it away even more. Baskets will sit until the clothes are wrinkled and then that just really  pisses me off. 

I'm the kind of person who can wear something a couple times before I feel it needs to be washed. Unless it's gym clothes (wait what's the gym), socks and underwear. Ya can't  wear that shit more than once. I even use the same shower towel a few times because you're clean when you get out right?

My kids clothes go in the laundry bin daily. Kids are nasty. Harlow is always filthy. She resembles pig pen from Peanuts and she just doesn't care. Re-wearing clothes without washing is not an option for that sloppy child. Cash is my clean kid. Like overly clean kid. However, he sweats so fucking bad just walking from the table to the couch. He wakes up soaked in sweat so there go the pjs. Moral of this paragraph those clothes dive immediately into the washer. 

Then there's Don. Don, Don, Don.  When I put laundry away the majority of it belongs to him. I did tons of laundry before my trip and I found clothes in today's bin that I just fucking folded yesterday. He wears AT LEAST 3 shirts, 2 undershirts and then the top shirt.  Boom 3 pieces right there times 7 days.  The kicker comes now. He'll put a clean shirt and shorts on for bed and by the time I wake up there they are in the dirty bin. I just fucking folded them 35 minutes before you put them on. Why the fuck do you want to torture me? You can tell he's never done his own laundry. He has no appreciation of the time involved. Let him wash clothes you say? Fuck that. Him doing laundry costs me money. He's fucked up my shit before so his ass is no longer near the laundry. 

Then there's shower towels. Talk about anxiety. I wake up and there's towels all over the house. Some from yesterday, the day before and even preparing himself for the following morning. That's the straw that breaks the asshole camels back. It makes me want to burn all of his clothes. Or bleach them. Bleach smells so good. Again, you're  ass is clean when you get out of the shower. Hang the fucking towel and use it again tmrw. I have a stash of my favorite towels and to be an asshole he touches them. Doesn't he understand the difference between hair towels, body towels, my towels and his towels?! 

I left my house with no laundry. If I come home to a new mountain I will fucking lose my shit. Everyone will be grounded or kicked out. 

A mothers work is never done. 

Cash and Destruction

Cash can fuck shit up like no other. I used to call him Hurricane Cash. Toys have missing pieces, cars have missing tires, sharks have missing heads etc. Today topped the cake. So far.

I was up last night until 2:30am. Rudely woken up by the little shit and forced to shower and partcipate in life. Suddenly the shower stops draining. The water is covering the tops of my feet. I'm pissed. I grab the plunger and get to it. Nothing. Try again, nothing. 20 minutes of mother fucking nothing and the water just keeps rising. I'm generally pretty good at clearing a drain so I'm now fully enraged. Cash comes in, "Whats wrong mommy?" Of course I scream just get out here as I'm butt naked wearing my shower cap trying to now plunge the gurgling toilet. The whole time I'm mimicking, "Amber, papa always said keep draino on hand. Papa always said pour some down the drains every now and then." Finally defeated, I get out. Call my dad to see if he has a snake. Negative. Ask where my papa's is, no one can find it. Commence sleep deprived, anxiety driven, papa who fixed everything missing sadness sobbing. I man up and call the plumber.

I come home around 630pm to Don, my dad and the kids in the living room. Don says "No more toys in the shower. You're son just cost me $80." That little shit lifted the drain cover and put his fucking toy truck down the drain. And didn't tell anyone!!!! He tells my sister how his truck was down the drain and she says "Well how did it get there?"

Cash's response: "I put it there."

The I just fucked something up face. WHAT WHAT.

Anxiety, It's Whats For Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner

In honor of my new medication we're going to talk about my OCD/anxiety. Every mother that has more than one child has anxiety. Don't be a liar. I have anxiety 24/7. My brain doesn't turn off and I can't sleep. Lets talk about some of those triggers.

Dirty clothes. I can't handle when my kids have even the smallest spot on them. I follow them around with napkins and wipes to keep them clean. Harlow eats pasta naked. I won't let them wear certain clothes if I know they are going to play outside. So they wear the same shit to daycare every week. My fear of dirty clothes has worn off on Cash. If he even gets a drop of water of his clothes the entire outfit must be replaced. I can't tell you how many times I've turned around and caught him butt naked because "My shert got wet." Harlow could give a shit. She'll wear clothes til there's mold on them. Sticky hands and dirty faces. I try to teach my kids good hygiene. I'll lick my thumb to get that dirt off their face and I'm washing their hands with wipes after they do anything. This has backfired since Cash now eats donuts with a fork to keep his hands from getting dirty. I also don't do dirty feet. They must be wiped upon removal of shoes or sit outside until you're to be cleaned. Again, backfired. Cash will take his shoes off soon as his ass hits his car seat "Mommy my feet are so durty you have to wash them or I can't go on."

Wet clothes lead to mismatching outfits. Another trigger. Cash will go up to change a sock that has a piece of the dogs fur on it and come down with clothes that don't go together. That makes me nuts. I'm FAR from matchy matchy but certain things should be worn with certain things period. Don is notorious for putting pjs on them that don't go together. I've even fold them together, bottom underneath the matching top.  I've explained the process a million times. I can't make it any simpler. I shouldn't be surprised he doesn't take more pride in the bedtime attire. This dude lives in a Jack Daniels cut off t-shirt. A womans size medium spandex cutoff. I will wake a kid up and change their pjs. In fact, I have. I told you people I'm on medication. OCD/Anxiety is real life up in here.

Kids jumping on me gives me anxiety. I'm not a jungle gym get the fuck off me and go beat the shit out of each other. I'll watch from my bed. Harlow can't sit still when I'm on the couch and she insists on being all over me until I jump up and scream like someone is trying to touch me with dirty feet.

Toe nails that aren't painted make me cringe. Especially when you're wearing sandals. God damn it women get with the program. Do us all a favor and pretty up those Mama June forklift feet with some polish. God made nail polish for a reason. Don't wear chipped polish either. Have some dignity. I will call all of my friends out on their unpainted nails. Some of them now make sure they are painted before we get together or they have an excuse on deck because they know I'm coming for them.

Whining. I CAN'T DEAL WITH WHINING. It gives me anxiety like nothing I've ever seen before. My head will spin and I'll spit green slime if I even hear the beginning of a whine.

I am going to NYC on Friday. Don is going to be home with the kids. I left out outfits and pjs for every day I'm gone. Left to right, Friday to Monday. I am freaking out about the fact that Don won't know how to comb Harlows bangs after her shower and the next day she'll wake up looking like a cockatoo. Who is going to do Cash's hair? He has soccer pictures on Monday and I won't be there to do it for him. I won't sleep all weekend. I'm not going to miss them. I'm more worried they will be out in public looking like a hot mess representing me. Come on ladies there are very few men who can dress kids in clothes that make sense let alone give a little girl a water spout on the top of her head.

The list is SO much longer than this. I just picked the top few of the day. Thank God we switched medicines because just reading this is giving me anxiety.

Yea I take meds, yea I lost my shit on any and everything but I have kids with clean clothes, clean feet, perfect hair, and my nails painted. Except for today. My nails aren't polished, I'm in dire need of a manicure and I've been called out on it. Twice. Touche.

 

 

Go The Fuck To Sleep. Read By Samuel L Jackson

There's a strict bedtime routine in the Ranalli residence. I don't fuck around when it's time to get out of my hair for 12 hours. It somehow never goes according to plan. Baths start around 7:30pm, cereal at 8pm and bedtime by 830pm. The stalling starts around 8:10pm but that mother fucker is plotting by 7pm. "Mommy I want daddy's cereal in daddy's red bowl with a spoon and milk." Next is "Mommy can I have an apple? No skin and not in a circle."  "Mommy can we play for a little while" and lastly "Can I have a sip of milk?" Can we say OCD?? Its the same lines every night. Then he requests his fathers presence to watch a movie. Here's where I refuse to partake. Don takes each kid up stairs so I can start the clean up. Teeth get brushed, then Harlow goes in her room first. She knows what's about to go down across the hall so she loses her shit, screams and cries for 10-30 minutes then falls asleep. God forbid she misses something. I chant the words to Go the Fuck to Sleep read by Samuel L Jackson and I keep the monitor off until the howling stops.

Cash then takes his Nabi, Don's phone for some dumb ass game, and pops in a movie for the 45 minute "Daddy will you watch a movie with me" bull shit. Since Cash was a baby giant, Don has rocked him to sleep. Not me Don. I finally had to put my foot on his nuts and make him stop. "You're going to have to rock him to sleep until hes 15 and that would be awkward." How in the fuck am I supposed to marry him off if daddy still has to rock him to bed at 45 years old? No grown ass man with daddy issues is living in my basement until I die. Finally it stopped for a while. We would lay Cash down with a movie, yes he watches a movie when he goes to bed. Before you judge me, yes I know he won't go into REM sleep, yes I know he could have nightmares, yes I know he will never be fully rested. Well guess what FUCK YOU. I don't do whining and crying. And I'm not going to listen to a child who is 3 times the size of normal kids his age wail like a newborn and wake the hormonal baby up across the hall. Fuck no. Just as we had him trained to go to bed on his own Don fucked it up. He started laying with him and then that whole routine started.

I will let a child cry. When Harlow wakes up and cries for mommy I let her go as long as I can before I get annoyed then I lie and tell Don, "You're daughter is crying for you" and he runs right up to save his baby girl. SUCKER! Besides Cash will be up my ass at 6:30am. Take one or two for the team Donald!

Parenting... The First Year

Cash was difficult from the moment I found out I was pregnant. I had a few problems early on which made him my problem child.

He was the first grandchild on both sides and the first great-grandchild on the Martino's side. Everyone drooled over him "He's so beautiful! Look at that hair!" Yea spend more than a fucking hour with him. Better yet come back around 4:45pm right when the show is about to start.

When Cash came home he cried. Every second of every day. Around 5-6pm the crying got louder and more annoying. The only way to shut his ass up was to sit in the sweltering summer heat by the AC unit. He probably felt defeat because it was the one thing that was louder than him. The kid had colic. Not only did he have colic, I got a double whammy and he had acid reflux. He threw up exorcism style a million times a day. I didn't have enough bibs to keep on him. Shit neither did Target. When we went out I had to carry 3 bags just to make sure I had enough clothes and bibs because we were going to have to change him a minimum of 3 times. In one hour.My fondest memory of colic was sitting on the rocking chair while he's screaming his head off. I held him face to face, screamed and cried with him, he definitely wasn't expecting that. "Why don't you like me? I gave you life?" I called my mother, she came in under 5 minutes, I went upstairs, got my shit together and came back down for round 2.

Enter Dr Mark Delmonte, chiropractor. My savior, my hero. He was treating my sister Courtney and asked how we were doing. She told him about the endless crying, barfing and my desire to escape to Alaska. His response, "Bring him to me." Cash went to him every day for a week, then every other day, then every few days. Within the first week he was a normal human. Such a difference. I actually liked him again! Once we got through the "I'm the King I'm going to fuck your life up more than you know" phase, it was smooth sailing. Until those terrible fucking twos...

The Delivery of Cash Michael Ranalli

There's nothing better than your entire blog about your pain in the ass kid deleting and not one fucking person can find it. So I'll start over and do my best to remember what in God's name I even wrote the first time. I'll keep it to just the delivery this time so I don't bore the shit out of you.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant I begged the Dr for a c-section. I had zero desire to destroy my vagina by birthing Bessie the cow. I wanted my va-jj to look like it was still 16 years old. Sadly she told me "We don't do those upon request." I chanted everyday and sure enough I got my wish.

My due date was June 23, 2011. Cash decided that he wasn't vacating the property on time so I had to be induced. I received a call from the PA at 2pm while I was getting my wig did, to see if I could come to Memorial Hospital instead of St Marys because they were in the process of switching. She said I didn't have to make the change, but the Dr and PA would both be at Memorial. Duh I'm going with the experts. So 3 hours later I arrived. The PA came into to check me and unknowingly broke my water. I labored for a few hours then I went for the epidural, I'm no hero. PS labor wasn't that bad. Some of you are just wimps. At 1030pm the Dr was called in and when she checked me she said "He is coming out neck/face first. I can feel his nose and eyebrow. If he doesn't turn you are going to have to have a c-section." "I'm fine with that! In fact lets not turn him, lets just leave him, take me to the dungeon and give me a scar to be proud of." She rolled her eyes and said"I know its fine Amber I know." Dr broke my water and suddenly Niagara Falls was in room 215. Apparently facial presentation, as its called, doesn't happen often so the Dr asked if some of the nurses could cop a feel. At that point I was spread eagle soaked in water why the fuck not let the nurses get educated. Every nurse on the floor fondled me. I think they even called nurses in from other floors to check it out. My mother asked the Dr if she could hold off just a little bit longer so he could be born on the 30th like me, my sister, my cousin and my father in law. Sure mom, why don't we just wait until July 4th so we could have a holiday baby.I should have known this child was going to destroy every last ounce of sanity I had left.

I remember crying for my mom, the Dr and PA talking girl talk about a guy and a lot of pressure. Once he was ripped from my womb and slapped on my chest, they took him up to be weighed. "Hurry up and call us we're dying to know how much he weighs." Never good to hear that. 9lbs 4oz 21 inches long with the best Mohawk Niagara Falls has ever seen. 9 MOTHER FUCKING POUNDS. I was supposed to push that out?! He would have left me with a hole the size of Texas!

The next day my mother and aunt had to wash my ass. I had at least 30 people in the room at once and all I wanted to do was cry. Thank you hormones. I was in so much pain I swore I would NEVER do that again. Little did I know in a few short days I would want to sell him on the black market. (Kidding mom)

 Me on my due date. Large and in charge.

The beginning.

Let's start with a background of me.
  
My husband and I have beat the odds and will be married 5 years in October. We have two crazy, maniac children, Cash will be 4 and Harlow will be 2. We are currently working thru the discipline stage. And 8/10 times we fail. However I am content with this fraction once I go in public and see the parents that lose every time. Harlow is a girly girl who likes purses, makeup, and nail polish but she can keep right up with her brother when it comes to trains and superheroes. She's super sweet, when she feels like it, and uses her cuteness against me all the time. Cash, Cash, Cash. This kid is cut from a different cloth. He is mouthy, bossy, loud, demanding, extremely OCD yet when he wants something he's the biggest lover. The things that come out of his mouth are hysterical and horrifying. Like the time he told daycare that he needed breakfast because mommy doesn't feed them. He has no fear ex: the time he climbed the roof with my dad. He eats the same shit every day. Every damn day. He's about that snack life not the meal life. He's witty, smart and he's turning out to be quite the rap enthusiast.

I'm not your normal PTA mom. Coffee runs through my veins, I swear like a fucking trucker, I have many tattoos and the oddest form of OCD you'll ever read about. We'll get to the flaw later. 

 My days begin with the lovely Cash climbing into my bed and in his sweetest baby voice, "Can I have your phone?" at 630am. I am NOT a morning person by any means and if I haven't had my coffee yet, you better look out. Each kid is fed breakfast, wrestled to get dressed and then out the door to our babysitting destination. There's one rule in my car. We dance. We listen to loud music no matter what time of day and we all sing and dance. It's what we do.  My road rage en route to destination has become so intense my kids will sit in silence once it begins. I don't have time for people to not drive with a purpose. It gives me anxiety. That's a whole new can of cashews and that's going to take me days to explain.

I go to work, pick kids up, have dinner, clean dinner, dole out baths then I sit on the couch and wait for bedtime. Every night. You moms know you do the same thing! Then wake up and repeat day. Becoming a parent is like the movie Ground Hog Day. It's the same routines, the same food, the same clothes, the same conversations, the same people, the same fights, every fucking day. Here and there we throw in a episode where my kids don't make me pull my hair out and actually make me laugh.

 I'll share those moments along with my horrible parenting skills, kiddie meltdowns, and domestic violence episodes (its a joke mom) with you because my life is way better than those Kardashian people.

Me. Dealing with everyday life.

Introducing me

I'm Amber. Mother of 2, wife, employee, daughter and sister. I live a fast paced crazy life with a 4 year old who keeps me on my toes. I have many theories on life and motherhood. I'll share them with you. The good, the bad, and the evil.