These Crazy Kids Are All Mine- UYW Challenge October

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now. At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them. 

I’m using: Sassafras, Elliptical, Lip, Orange, and Tie. They are highlighted AND underlined for you to see.               

They were submitted by: http://berghamchronicles.blogspot.com/

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My kids are crazy. Yeah, yeah, yeah…..So are yours. I know. They ALL are. A week with mine, though, especially during the school year, and you’ll wanna jump off the nearest three story building. Seriously. The crazy becomes CRAY-ZEEEE whenever my kids are involved. The psych ward won’t even take them, or me for that matter, because the crazy is THAT bad. I’ve been trying for years to run away from this crazy train called parenting with no success.

First off, my youngest child has developed an early case of The Potty Mouth. She would rather forego the typical silliness of common children’s phrases such as: sassafras, butter nuts, and booger face, in lieu of much more colorful adult phrases she has no business knowing, like: ass face, shithead, Deez Nuts, and dammit to hell. They are used in appropriate context, too: Daddy, do you know what I think about that?…Deez Nuts! You shitheads messed up my dollhouse! *Something isn’t working for her* Dammit to hell, do it! You’re an assface, stop looking at me! Sometimes, I really want to give her props when I know I should be correcting her, but her choice of words are so unbelievably, perfectly fitting of the situation at hand, I usually find myself laughing so hard, my worn out bladder tinkles along, too. I can’t help it! The piss or the laughter. Thankfully, at almost four, she is more than aware of right from wrong and knows very well those are adult words only. Despite being used in context, she only uses them when we’re in the privacy of our own home. She also will tell you what the right words to have used are, if you ask. She is merely exerting her own version of comical relief, because she just loves being the star focus of everyone’s attention, and I find myself thinking: “If this damn shithead kid of mine wasn’t so damn fucking cute, I’d have sold her ass to the Gypsies by now!” Oh, fuck. I guess that totally explains everything. Now, doesn’t it? Like mother, like daughter, you say? Well, then. I say, Assface.

Alright. On the other hand of the diabolical mouthed preschooler, I’ve got this 7½, and don’t you dare forget that half, year old, second grade daughter who’s mouth isn’t nearly as colorful or cute; just completely, and utterly angrivating. It is her prerogative in life to correct everyone’s speech or the context thereof. No little white lies, overlooked detail, or mixed up order of recall can get past her. She will interrupt you just to say you used the wrong word or pronunciation. With sass, nonetheless. Her voice has literally become part of the daily background noise in our household, because she never stops talking. It is easy for her, since there’s five other humans, plus five pets, to talk at incessantly. This girl has even been known to give her teachers lip over whatever it was she felt strongly about in the moment- like, being asked too many stupid questions, she wasn’t being a chatterbox, she shouldn’t have to keep her shoes on at her desk, or my personal favorite, she will color on the teacher’s face with markers if the teacher doesn’t leave her alone about coloring on her hands and arms. Nothing but sass from this one! Just remember, you’re always under interrogation with this one and everything will be just fine…just don’t forget a single word of what you said, because she certainly will. Until the end of time. Mom, why did you tell me that drawing on myself would poison me all those times when my markers are really NON-TOXIC! That means they AREN’T poisonous and YOU LIED TO ME!

My oldest child, now….well…ugh, he’s marching to the beat of his very own drum. Okay, not quite exactly his own, since I’m nine hundred ninety nine gazillion percent damn near positive the kid is an identical replica of his uncle. My brother. Only my kid isn’t yet jaded like he is. Anywho, the twerp has entered middle school and run off with the extra inch of responsibility rope he was granted. His dad traded in the idea of buying the new elliptical trainer he’s been wanting for awhile now to get the cellphone for the kid’s birthday at the beginning of the school year. Something he’s been asking us for all damn summer. So, what did he go and do with all the stolen rope after he received his so badly wanted cellphone which he swore up and down he was responsible enough for!? He decided he was too grown to do his school work, because it took up too much of his time, and he just stopped doing it all together. The kid is smart, proven by the fact he passed any tests thus far, and he’s not bored by the work by his placement testing scores. He’s simply too busy living life to be bothered with work of any kind that isn’t for Minecraft. It wasn’t any fault of the cellphone gift, it just happened to work out consequently like that; I know he still would have done this no work thing had he gotten a different gift, because he barely touches that so badly desired gift- his dad had texted him every day with NO response. He would’ve not done his work regardless of the gift. His service is suspended until the end of time and he’s under my lock and key until I see he’s learned accountability over his school work. If he doesn’t tread lightly, I might just tie him to the school flag pole by his boxers to show him how much growing he still has left to go before he can consider himself grown enough to decide what work is worth his time and effort or not. Just because I’m the mom and I can. I did my time.

Last, but never the least, on this crazy train my children rode in upon at birth, is my second born son. He’s one those silent but crazy types. You just never know when it’s coming. Or how. Like the SBD’s my husband uses to clear out the room on his football weekends. He’s an introverted class clown; though he hates being around large groups of people, the boy thrives on making others laugh at him. A shy jokester….who ever would’ve thought it was possible? I sure didn’t. When he isn’t locked in his room alone, wearing his favorite orange sweatshirt, Camo snow pants, and neon blue and orange Adidas basketball shoes, and playing Destiny on the PlayStation, he is jumping off of the house roof, flinging himself around like a possessed ParkCore guy, and playing ridiculous pranks on his two little sisters. (Doing his homework, too! Unlike his Irish twin above.) When I’m having a no-good, horrible day, he may not want to hug me or snuggle and he may not be able to say something sweet or gentle to ease my burdens, but he will say something snarky and totally off-the-wall to bring me to tears with laughter. We ALL know laughter is much better medicine for the Blues than a hug, anyways. His mild case of ADD allows him to use his antsy restlessness compassionately, which makes me feel super proud of him! Not many kids are able to take a stigmatized diagnosis and give it a positive purpose in their lives: this is the kinda crazy we all can learn from.

Put this combo of craziness into a pot and give it a stir….And that’s my life with these crazy kids. They are the monkeys to my circus and they complete me in ways I never could’ve imagined before I had each one of them. They are also the conductors of the crazy train we’re riding to insanity and beyond….which sometimes makes that three-story building look mighty tempting!

But, if this Mom ever does jump ship, those whacky, loveable, snarky, smarty-pants, too-grown-for-their-britches conductors of mine wouldn’t have their compass anymore. The compass they will need, that they must have, if they are ever to find their way down the tracks of life this train is on…and that trumps the need to escape the depths of insanity of being Mom, always.

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:
Baking In A Tornado

Spatulas on Parade

The Momisodes

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

Southern Belle Charm

Rena’s World

Confessions of a part time working mom

Never Ever Give Up Hope   

Someone Else’s Genius     

Searching for Sanity

Climaxed 

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

The Bergham Chronicles    

Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

 

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

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Cursed By The Curse Of Life

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Nothing ever seems to work out for me in life. Most days, I feel as though ‘ve brokend. So much so, I’ve even named it: The Curse of Life. It has followed me for as long as I can remember, way back into my childhood.

Maybe it’s the price I have to pay for all the mirrors I broke growing up. Shattered and laying in a messy pile after trying to be a Prima Ballerina in my basement or epically failing to make my face up to look like Gwen Stefani, mirrors have never stood a chance against  my clumsy self. Seven years of bad luck times eight, no, ughhm…nine. Yeah, times nine mirror. That’s sixty-three years of bad luck hanging over my head. Not even counting the mirrors I’ve broken since becoming an adult! I never bothered to keep count those ones, but  knowing my lack of luck, I can guarantee there has been a few too many.

It’s silly for anyone to believe the mirrors are causing my ill-fate, though. I don’t want to end up in a white padded cell with a suicide-prevention, carpet- like fabric, brown-striped garment on while my clothes lie in a crumpled heap outside the tightly locked door to live out the rest of my day as a mental patient. Really. I promise you. I’m not THAT kind of paranoid, suspicious, and irrational crazy.

Just the cursed kind of crazy.

I can’t think of any circumstance or situation which worked out remotely close to the plan. Not one, single, measly experience or milestone has been deemable as stereotypical or normal by the standards of mainstream society. The family I was born into being a preposterous shamble of botched relationships and over-dramatic wreckage which collided the day I was born. Well, more than likely from the day my parents wed, in all technicality.

If Germany and Russia couldn’t stay allies during WW2, who would think a marriage between them would work out only a generation later?

HA! Some funny shit right there! I was the girl with divorced parents before I ever graduated from preschool. This is right where it seems The Curse Of Life began for me, only because it’s as far back as I remember. My dad had a piece on the side hanging around, waiting for the divorce. He moved my new “aunt”, only twelve and a half years older than myself, into our home the night after my mom moved out. It didn’t take my mom too much longer to find someone she’d eventually marry a few years later, though.

Every one of them, I know now, were either functioning alcoholics or well on their way to becoming one. It doesn’t make a difference what all else proceeded to go down in my childhood, because most certainly, whatever did go right and did go wrong was still completely screwed in some way. Nothing was easy. Nothing was simple.

I was, however, a child eager to follow the plan as society’s unwritten rules inadvertently expect one to follow, of my own recognizance. Perpetually, I was working hard to prove myself and  most parents would be extremely grateful for and terribly proud to have a child who wanted to complete their education in full. Especially, with such great enthusiasm for learning as mine. I used to wish on every first star and add to my bedtime prayers every night, a plea to be deemed worthy of just one, small, normal life element which I wanted more than anything else. Yet, The Curse of Life didn’t even allow me that.

Without the necessary encouragement and support, without role models to outline the basics, and without the financial means to go at it alone, I never made it to a good University. I wasn’t even living at home when I graduated high school, but at least I graduated in full. I ended up in community college receiving a two-year certificate as a Health Unit Coordinator, so I could make it on my own without the added stress of a minimum wage job drowning me before I was even legally allowed to consume alcohol. 

Sure, you’re probably thinking now, “How is one messed up childhood, that doesn’t seem half-so-bad, so damned cursed?” Simple. Add in every little happenstance and incident to go awry coupled together with the much bigger occurrences leading to a few failed suicide attempts, plus the pathetic messed up example of a family, and BAM! VOILA! TA-DA! One cursed life.

If I really tried to write down each little happenstance which changed the outcome or altered the course of my life in some aberrational way, it would be the length of the entire full-volume encyclopedia SET Of BOOKS! You know, those swiftly obsolete with the arrival of the internet, big ole’ honkin’, hard covered things full of pages explaining about everything one could want to know about in the physical world? For as many entries as there are in each Encyclopedia Britannica, there are mishaps, accidents, catastrophes, and let down on my record, each one happening against all odds.

Events left to my arranging never work out in the slightest. No matter how early I begin preparing for departure, I’m late for everything by at least fifteen minutes, regardless of importance. Punctuality is my mortal enemy. Orderliness is like a punch line to someone else’s inside joke about me being chattered behind my back, even though I was known for my awesome organizational skills when I was working. My house is a chaotic hazard  to  anyone  not accustomed to walking around and  over boxes, baskets, and piles of junk running amuck. I’m also prone to strange and unlikely injuries and illnesses. The spinal column disease I was diagnosed with usually doesn’t leave dormancy until middle-age. I began showing symptoms in my early twenties.

A brilliant mind with no golden ticket to collect on. Never quite popular enough to be noticed for my talents, yet never talented enough to be noticed and become popular for them. The constant misfortunes I have faced in life prevented me from developing at a steady pace, as well as, perusing anything of interest passionately. Little things are constantly going to shit. Big things are constantly going to hell.

The Curse of Life has remained an ever present factor throughout my life. Every day is like going to battle, because I’m constantly fighting to deal with unsuspected challenges or unannounced changes to the gameplan, hurled at me while my back is turned only momentarily. I love my children, my husband, and the family I have built with my cursed life, even if they weren’t planned to come along as they did. Nothing ever happens as it is intended when you’re cursed, my only hope is that children never break single mirror in their lifetimes. Or, at least, until they’re grown up and moved out, because I have enough bad luck with The Curse of Life for us all!

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Today’s post was a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

I’m using: Chatter ~ knowing ~ striped ~ pile ~ hanging ~ crumpled
They were submitted by:http://singlemumplusone.blogspot.com    

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

 Baking In A Tornado

 Spatulas on Parade

 The Momisodes

 The Bergham’s Life Chronicles

 Stacy Sews and Schools

 Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

 Southern Belle Charm

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver  

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

Confessions of a part time working mom

Someone Else’s Genius

Climaxed 

Evil Joy Speaks 

Never Ever Give Up Hope

Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

Searching for Sanity

 

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom

Finding Simplicity in Summer’s Verve

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Here it is, the middle of August already, and I have no idea how we got here. Summer is coming to an end before I even settled in to its peaceful lack of school schedules and routines. There was so much I wanted to do, because my oldest two children are at the cusp of leaving childhood far behind. They’re teetering on the edge of becoming a teenager, the oldest of those two is fully embracing life as a tween right now as I write this! (And I’m still contemplating the age old question: Why do babies grow so fast!?!) Summer kicked off with a bang this year, giving me arise to think this one would finally be different from all those of past. This summer we would be able to do things, go places, have many adventures as a family. This summer would be exciting, fun, full of new experiences.

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The first weekend the kids had off from school, we took the four kids on a kinda-sorta camping trip for the weekend at our local family camping and recreation area. My mother had rented us an enclosed frame tent, which is essentially an open walled A-Frame building with a canvas tent cover over it, and we were lucky to get the one right off the beach path down to the lake. The kids had the time of their lives spending two whole days rolling in sand and splashing in the water. It was everything I wished our first family adventure to be like. And more. None of us wanted to go back home, but home was waiting for us, along with all of our responsibilities. We settled back into our normal summer routine of lazy mornings, bustling afternoons full of running errands, late dinners, and fluctuating bedtimes for all.

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The days kept passing by in our laze, no one was keeping track, and no one seemed to care. The kids were enjoying this time off from the continuous whirlwind the hubbub and commotion of the school year stirs up. One day, recently, I genuinely went about thinking it was Tuesday all day, and only when I saw all of my neighbors’ trash out for morning collection when I switched my porch lights on at dusk, did it dawn on me that it must actually be Thursday. Apparently, I somehow skipped over Wednesday. Not recalling even the slightest bit of it, after seriously racking my brain, until I realized I was remembering two Tuesdays back-to-back. Brain fart! The days just begin blending in with one another when there’s no lunch menus, classroom activity schedules, or daily extracurricular classes to help me keep track of which day is what, because not much else in life as a stay-at-home-mom, revolves around the days of the week. They become rather indistinguishable from one day to the next, especially when technology allows you to program appointments to alarm, eliminating the need for a wall calendar. Except Sundays in our house, though. It’s Daddy’s only day off to share with his family, so we always know the day is a Sunday when Dad isn’t going into work, for no reason at all. (Just trust me, you know when there is a good reason, because it means he’s extremely sick and no one hears the end of how miserable gee feels! Lol. He’ll never miss work unless he’s close to dying)

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When the fact of the kids going back to school in merely four short weeks had first dawned on me, I started freaking out in my head. Questioning my abilities as a parent with depression. Had I been on a low without knowing it and left my children hanging, wishing I could shake off the fog? Had I left the boys, particularly, disappointed in me while the days passed by us, because they expected more? My thoughts spiraled like leaves falling from trees after a swift Autumn gust of wind. Was this summer even fun enough for any of them, even the girls?! Did I miss an opportunity to tighten the bond between mother and sons before those trying teenage years sweep in and pull us apart with hormones and angst? I let my anxiety get the better of me in this consuming moment of self-doubt, which is something I’ve struggled with for as long as I’ve had depression. In the back of my mind, I knew I was being unfairly harsh and malevolent with this impromptu personal performance evaluation, and I wasn’t going to let it take me out. Time to use the battle tools I’ve picked from victories of the many previous fights, learning along the way what works best to face each component of my Depression.

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After getting a grip on those rambling, runaway ruminations feeding the monster within the darkness, I was able to step back and see the big picture come into focus. It was crystal clear to me now. This would be a summer the boys could remember with joyous nostalgia and, not, bitter resentment, like the cantankerous, oppressive voice of depression tried tricking me to believe. Why? Because the finale was yet to come. Summer wasn’t over! It was coming to a close, but we weren’t done with it, yet. By all technicality and accuracy, the last day of Summer wouldn’t actually fall until two days after my first son’s birthday and on the day of my second son’s birthday on September 22. We had big plans for their birthdays this year, to celebrate my oldest entering middle school and becoming a full-blown tween. We were surprising them with their first ever trip to Cedar Point. Without their annoying little sisters! So, even with school starting in a few weeks, summer can still go out with the same bang it came in with. Plus, I still have four weeks to cram in every park, beach, baseball game, festival, pool, playground, and zoo trip I’ve forgotten to plan in the last eight weeks of pure, blissful dilatoriness and lackadaisicalness. In fact, «« that’s the most effort I’ve put into this vacation from keeping pace with the real world…. looking up those two new words for the term laziness!

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You know what I realized from that near-heart-attack-causing moment of depressive anxiety which put life back into perspective for me? It’s a beautiful thing to take a step back and live in complete simplicity. I feel so much more connected with my children then I did during the entire last school year. We’ve talked more about ourselves and the ways of life then we have in the past, especially my boys and I. I watched them be just kids in their molds, always changing from one day to the next, because they own who they are. More than I can say about myself on a bad day with my Depression, so it means a lot for me to see my children learning life lessons I’m not always good at teaching. They didn’t feel influenced, pressured, intimidated, conscientious, under fire, or in demand once during the last eight weeks. The boys played Minecraft and the girls watched spider dissection videos on YouTube to their hearts content. We learned about love and loss when our puppy was stolen, and how to use teamwork to organize search parties and driver flyers. We watched dozens of movies, cuddled together with buckets of extra buttery popcorn. We had ice cream sundaes for lunch, breakfast for dinner, and pizza for breakfast on more than a few occasions. We chased ice cream trucks and rescued an injured bird and duck. We watched a kitten grow up. Nanny (grandma) came in for a visit and the kids got to really love on her for the first time in three years without her idiot new husband interfering. We caught fireflies and took moonlight walks, went to a few amazing fireworks shows, and stayed up super late playing Zombies Pillow Attack. I think that’s quite a lot of fun the kids will all remember, even my grown-way-too-fast-for-my-liking boys.

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This damn Depression of mine will always try to find a way to butt in and rain on my parade, but I’ll be ready each and every time to catch it red-handed and send it packing again. I know I’m the best mom my kids could have been blessed with, just as I have the greatest kids a mom could have ever dreamt of as a , with twists, turns, and drops you never see coming, screaming at the clouds for the universe to just let you off the hell ride already. Yet, other times, it’ll ostensibly slow to a crawl, allowing you to experience every passing second with your full lot of senses, taking everything life offers up at full-impact. It’s when life puts you in this place, where you can take it slow and easy, in which you’ll find yourself with a summer’s worth of memories to take away in your heart. Summer came in with a bang and is going to roll out with one, too, but the rest was just as summer should be; reveling in the simplicity of simply existing. Relaxing, melding, merging…. into the verve of Summer.

***Today’s post was a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now. You’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge below. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them. Wonder who got mine!?!

I’m using: rain, lake, beautiful, thoughts, share. They are bold AND underlined for you to find easily. They were submitted by: Juicebox Confessions

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:
Baking In A Tornado
Spatulas on Parade
The Momisodes
The Bergham’s Life Chronicles
Stacy Sews and Schools
Southern Belle Charm
Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo
Someone Else’s Genius
Never Ever Give Up Hope
Confessions of a part-time working mom
The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver 
Searching for Sanity
Climaxed
Juicebox Confession
Cluttered Genius

 

 

By: Kristina Hammer, aka, The Angrivated Mom