Take it from me.

 

Life is freakin' FUNNY.   Even the sucky parts.

At least that's how I think everyone should see it. Just don't take life SO damn seriously.

Even when it seems absolutely crazy, just LAUGH.

Why laugh you ask? Well, OK then, I will tell you.

So like I said before, I have some major A.D.D, a few personalities, and 3 children that could have possibly inherited these wonderful traits from me. Which will undoubtedly, slowly lead to insanity if I were to let it get to me. I HAVE to laugh at myself.
I also, for a long time, felt a strong need for acceptance and had to prove that I was tough. This perfect concoction of screwed-upedness lead me to be QUITE unique.
But my Mommy thinks I'm special.

I went to a birthday party when I was like, 6. All the girls and boys were on their best behavior.  You know, typical party. Hang out with friends, open presents, sing happy birthday, eat cake,
RUB CAKE ALL IN YOUR FACE AND HAIR...
WHAT? That's not normal you say?
No shit.
They sent me home.

When I was in 2nd grade I remember the teacher asking some sort of math question to the class. I already felt like I was "a bit different" at this point in my life. So when everyone seemed to raise their hand with confidence to answer the math question, but me, it kinda confirmed my learning problem.
I ended up raising my hand after the fact, just to fit in. And to not feel so stupid. I mean, what's the odds she would call on me? Right?
Well. She DID.

All eyes turned towards little ole Leslie who had just got done drawing 3 stick figures out of those little holes in the side of the loose leaf paper.
You don't know what I'm talking about?
Oh, then YOU missed out!
Wait, what was the question?
Hell if I know.
I think the answer was 24.
What was my answer?
"blue."
A.D.D


When I was in 4th grade, some girl was picking on me. I wasn't going to take any shit from anyone, just because I was small, so my short, scrawny little self told the girl to
"STEP OUTSIDE!"
Well, she did.
CRAP.

She was bigger than me, like most kids my age, and when we snuck past the teacher and out the classroom door, that realization became obvious to me as I was standing, facing Goliath.
I must show NO FEAR!

With all of the tomboy inside of me, I blindly started swinging my fists at her. But I was no David.
It pretty much ended up like one of those nightmares, ya know, where you are trying with all your might to move as fast as you can, defending yourself with punches and blocks, but you are moving in slo-mo, while the other person just laughs in your face.
Then you get punched in the nose at ultra mega speed.
Well, that can happen in real life too.
No shit.
Personality #1. Tough girl.

Then after, you walk back in the classroom, sit back in your desk, and pretend like THAT nightmare never happened.
Oh, but it gets worse.
Because the teacher sees you walk in.
"Go to the office!"
"But.. but...teacher...the other girl..."
"GO! NOW!"

As you storm out of the room, nose bleeding, upset that the teacher will not see your side of things, you make sure to knock all of the papers and books off of the teachers desk, flipping the bird,  then "accidentally pushing" her out of the doorway she was blocking.
Know what I'm talking about?
Yeah, I don't know anything about that either. Was just hoping you did.
Personality # 2. Temperamental girl. Or mental girl. How ever you wanna see it.


In high school, I would always sit in the back of the class, keeping my unraised hand to myself.
But there were windows in the back. And windows open up.
I would slide them open and crawl out when the teacher looked away, then go for a stroll around the school.
Thirty minutes or so later, I'd eventually make my way back to the class, walking through the door.
This confused the teachers.
"You told me I could go to the bathroom!" I would say, looking at them like they had dementia.
"I did?" they would respond, confused.

The kids would laugh at this. So I found MANY more things for them to laugh about over the years.
Personality # 3
Funny girl.

I was like a mega sized surprise Christmas present, from HELL!
You never knew what was gonna come out of the box.
A ninja? A mental ward patient? A clown?
Your guess was as good as mine.
There is a good girl in there somewhere. But that story would just be boring.


Needless to say, I served many detentions throughout school, didn't excel in any particular subject except the art I drew on my paperwork, and didn't graduate with the best of grades.
I know.
You can just SEE the pride radiating from my parents.
Don't let it blind you.

So what was the answer to nurturing this uniqueness of mine?

Duh! Join the military!

17 years old. Boot camp. Week one:
"DID YOU RUN AWAY FROM HOME PRIVATE!? DOES YOUR MOMMY KNOW YOUR GONE?!"
"ARE YOU GETTING AN ATTITUDE WITH ME PRINCESS!"
"UP THE STAIRS! DOWN THE STAIRS!"
"50 PUSH UPS!"
"This is a MAN'S Army!"

I began to think that maybe it WASN'T a good choice.

While low crawling through a field of fire ants in the rain, with chaffed thighs, your period, and a fever starting from the cold you've had for 2 weeks, you wonder... What the HELL did I just sign up for??!!
But whatcha gonna do.
You just gotta LAUGH.
Cause the shit couldn't possibly get any worse.


The second time I jumped out of a perfectly good airplane I was in combat gear that weighed about the same as I did.
"How the frick am I going to walk in this! How am I gonna lift my body off the ground and JUMP out of the plane in this shit?!"

You don't jump. Because the plane sucks your little body out, not giving you time to even THINK about how to jump. Then you repeatedly get slammed against the side of the door, bleeding, landing on your ass, smacking the back of your head against the ground as the parachute pulls you away with the wind, scraping you against the hard dirt, while a guy in a black hat yells in your face.
Just laugh.
Shit happens.

When I gave birth to my children I remember the oh so dreaded thought of... what if I poop on myself while I'm pushing out the baby? Oh my God, how embarrassing that would be!
You worry and worry. You read the horror stories.
I mean think about it. EVERYONE is watching, staring at the one obvious area to be staring at while your knees are back behind your freakin' ears.
So what IF it happens?

Well, once you are in labor and your uterus feels like someone is constantly using it as a football to kick 80 yard field goals for 14 hours straight, nothing else seems to matter.
When "using the mirror" seemed like a good idea at the time, but then they give it to you as the football makes its way through the 1 inch wide goal posts, and you see your body do things you never imagined it doing, you could care less if you crap on yourself. You could care LESS if your husband sees. Your Mom. The 2 doctors. The group of nursing students.
Either way, when it is all said and done, you just...

LAUGH.

Because what else can you do?
Worry?
Nah.

My husband and I were living in our last duty station in Alabama before he was retiring.
We had to sell our house. Easy enough, RIGHT?
Riiiight.

We walked around the house making a note of all the little things we had to repair. We figured after we fix it up, clean it up and stage it up, we would sell that bitch in a week!

HaHaHaHa!!!!!
Looking back, That's reeeal funny.

My husband had to have surgery.
This left me at home to do all of these tasks, ALONE, with 3 kids to take care of.
At the time they were 5yrs, 2 yrs and 3 months old.
Brice was obviously in his terrible 2's which is never good when you have a 3 storied house.
My 5 yr old, Devin, was in his terrible 2's as well.
And Carly completely relied on my boob milk to keep her occupied and happy.

Here is a little snippet...

Ok, let me move all of this furniture to the POD.
Oh, wait, I have to feed the baby. I'll just pop her on my boob while I wipe down the kitchen.
Brice going down the stairs? Brice tumbling down the stairs? Ok, well, let me put up the gates while i'm not moving stuff.
Devin screaming his head off because toys didn't line up the way he needed them to, to make the form of a robot? Ok, let me help him.
Oh, let me switch boobs first. 
Ok, Brice is climbing OVER the gate.
Devin is now throwing the toys at the wall, scraping the paint.
No biggie, I will just paint over THAT spot too.
Oooouch! I think Carly just bit my nipple off!
Ding dong!! Shit, the real estate agent is here!
Where's Brice? Why is Devin eating the paint chips?
Damn!!! I still have to clear out the basement and garage!

 After I change out the electrical socket covers, texture spray over the ceiling, find a way to glue down the toilet that rocks, re caulk all three bathrooms, clean carpets, move more furniture, go through closets, pack up all of our clothes, fill out all the paperwork for the real estate agent, AAAAAAND feed the cat. Crap! Where's the cat?

Throw the kids in the car, grab a bite, go see Brian at the hospital...
Come back and finish up that work I never started on, oh yes, and stain the back deck because that would help the house to sell. Where is the cat though?? Then I can stage it up real nice for that open house on Saturday, get the house sold, and be on our way to Louisiana! I got this!!

Oh, I got it all right.
Every last bit of it.
By myself.
During the beginning of the friggin' ECONOMIC HOUSING CRISIS!

The house was on the market for a year and a half.
Renters for 3 years.

I developed a twitch that still creeps back when someone mentions the words, kilz, paint roller, vent covers, housing market, surgery, Home Depot, nipple... well, just about any world really.

And my cat?
Yes, I found him.
In the middle of the road.
After a car did.

 You can't worry about shit you think MIGHT happen, and you can't worry about things once they DO happen. Because it's never what you expect and you usually can't control it anyway, so you will have worried for NOTHING.

When life throws you a curve ball, rub cake all in your face and hair, and just LAUGH.

Because life is freakin' funny.

And so are tough, phychotic, attention deficit, baby- making clowns in combat boots.

Things may suck at times, and I may not be perfect, but hell, I least I can laugh about it.