It’s Family Week at Your Crazy Mom and I invited one of my favorite writers to guest blog about her life as a Crazy Mom.  Everyone, meet my dear friend Ashley.  Make her feel welcome and be sure to bookmark her blog Because I Can.

“Your daughter”.

Anytime my husband refers to one of our children in this way, I can be assured that the next thought won’t be palatable.

“She left me a note by the computer.  Apparently she has an essay due TODAY and the printer is out of ink.  Damn, does she realize that I now have to go to Wal-Mart at 5:00 a.m!?!”  At this point I drag out of bed and attempt to read the hastily scribbled note by the keyboard thru half-closed eyes.  In a flash I’m in the shower and my wonderful husband/father to my babies is out the door.  He was probably gone about 10 minutes when I realized that our toilet was running….and running.  Well, he was at Wal-Mart….I called him.

“Honey, the toilet is running.  You may want to get one of those ball and flapper thingys while you are at Wally World.”  I can’t really type what he said next, so use your imagination here:  “#%$#&(#%#*&($^@*$$!”.  “Well, YOU flushed it last, so don’t blame me! Here, I’ll send you a picture.  Love you!”  I sent him a picture, cause I didn’t know what the hell I was looking at.  Don’t judge.

Ok, so in the meantime, my seven year old is planning on wearing her pajamas to school as it is Pajama Day.  I know this because on her agenda in her delightfully uneven handwriting is  PJ DAY.  “Baby, you are SURE that today is Pajama Day?  You know I don’t want you to be the only child in your pjs today”.  “Yes ma’am, cause they had to cancel it last Friday.”  (She always says ma’am when she wants something.)  Needless to say, when I put her on the bus, there were NO OTHER children in their pajamas.  Sigh.

I finally get dressed at this point, and apply my face for the day.  Hubby makes it home from the Wally World and when the door opens and shuts for the second time, I hear an exclamation from him.  “Your daughter!!”  “What now?”   “She got the bus driver to turn around and come back so she could get her Game Boy.  Apparently it’s Game Day as well as Pajama Day.”  Damn, that kid is good, I honestly don’t know where she gets it from.  Exhausted from dealing with the youngest, I wake the teenager up and inform her that her dad has gone to great lengths before dawn to ensure that her essay is turned in on time.  She mumbles her thanks and disappears into their bathroom.  Her grades are awesome, so I refrain from throwing something at the closed door.

Dressed, check, makeup on, check, hair fixed, check, our toilet is flushed…uh oh.

I’m no plumber.  I take the lid off the tank and dip my arm in the ice cold water to grab the orange flapper thingy.  Of course as I do this, my arm hits the hose that is obviously attached to something important and I am taking my second shower of the day, this time in toilet water.  Sweet.

When is going back to bed and starting over the obvious solution?  I asked this of my husband and he gave me an unsympathetic look.  Ok, so this is part of the joy of parenting, and all before 7:00 a.m.  It’s a job we’re actually happy to do, and the payoff is better than any tax exemption.  While those kids make me want to chew the tips of my fingers off at times, for the most part they are worth every aggravation.  God love ‘em.

At least it got better after I left the house. My husband fixed the toilet; the baby made it home with the Game Boy and informed us that some of the other kids had on their pjs too.  Big girl got her essay turned in on time and preserved her 4.0 average.  The day actually didn’t suck and I came home with a six-pack of Blue Moon beer.  Hubby gave me a look as I carried it in the house.  “Do we really need $8.00 beer?” he asked.  My reply?

$%@#^%*^%(&*%”>“$%@#^%*^%(&*%#!!!

I love my family.