I'm On Hiatus, But... (WARNING! Language laced PYHO post!!)

It looks like I just HAVE TO join in on today's PYHO with Shell. All thanks to my Bloggy-Buddy, Holly, over at Holly's House (Not A Perfect Mom's Blog), where she talked about how people spout off with Diarrhea of the Mouth disease regarding her having four kids that are so close in age, with one being a child that has Downs Syndrome, and that she is also a STAY-AT-HOME Mom. I'm in the same boat, but with a different situation. We both have it involving kids. HER'S being a kid number thing. MINE is a kid vs. mom's age thing.

So, here is my Pour Your Heart Out (PYHO) post. If you wish to join in, just click on the button below and follow the directions..Oh! And please remember that this meme and those of us that participate do not wish to have negativity brought to our posts. For many of us, this may be our ONLY means of venting. So be nice, or shut your fingers off from commenting.



I am 34 years old. I am married. I have three children. Or at least that's what I have thought. I thought that I am to be considered an adult.

True, I have an eleven year old who is my weight and dang near my height. She is only off by about two inches to my five foot frame, which is pretty petite. I also still look fairly young to many of my peers.

My daughter has a brother who is only seventeen months her junior. Having them so close together in age, at times it honestly felt like I was raising twins. They have a little sister who is now six. My oldest was five years and ten days older than the littlest one.My son is about three and a half years older.

Over the years, I have had (officially) five pregnancies. In the end, I have three kids. You do the mathematical science.

Also, over the years, since having the kids, I have had (literally) countless occasions where I am out and about with all three kids where someone will stop me and ask "Are THOSE all YOUR kids?!". Of course, the two older ones turn around and start to snicker under their breath as I proceed to answer the dreaded comment. "Yes, they ARE ALL THREE indeed MY kids".

Which then (normally in the SAME conversation and in the same tone) comes the "How old ARE you??". I of course answer with "thirty-four" (or whatever age it's been in the past).

After that, it's like the idiot wishes to have a throw down match of wit and words, as if I am lying. "You CAN'T be thirty-four! You only look about seventeen!!", which is the better end of it. I once in a while get fourteen. Worst one of memory was when the oldest was eight months old, I was twenty-three and the dumb bitch ARGUED with me, saying there was NO way, and that I HAD TO BE twelve and BABYSITTING the kid.

I am SO sick of people ARGUING my age versus kid count ratio. Then look appalled when I tell them they are ALL THREE mine. Should I take my state-issued ID card, punch a hole in the corner and place a chain through it, then wear it like Military Dog Tags, with my information showing at all times?

People are SO damn rude. I get SO sick of hearing the above statements made TO MY FACE after answering their asinine questions. Especially when in reality, it's NONE of their business.

When someone is NICE enough to answer a question that in truth is just you being NOSY, here is some advice...

Take the answer to your STUPID question, shove it in your pocket, say something NICE back and then walk away and continue on with your day.

If you can't be cordial after asking such a personal thing to a STRANGER, then I suggest you say NOTHING at all, or shove it up your ass. Believe me, I am at the point in my life to say it too, if someone argues with me about my age and MY kids again in the future.

I CANNOT help it that I still look damn good (as in young-faced) for my age group. I don't smoke anymore. I rarely drink, and when I do, not excessively. I rarely, if ever wear makeup. And I eat fairly healthy.

And I also can't help it that my children (at least two of them, anyways) will be TALLER than I am. And I can't help it that one of them is basically already there. Blame her wonderful and attentive stupid piece of shit father sperm donor. He is six foot. I am five foot. Use your smarts and take it from there.

So take it from me, it's not fun to have to be FORCED to play "Twenty Questions" with people you don't even know, as you mind your own business, be it walking down the street, or walking around the store, and when you get TOO nosy, be ready to have it taken clean off.

Handicap Parking & The "Not So" Disabled

I know a while back somewhere along the line, I had touched on this subject. But seeing as I hate "recycling" posts and honestly, I really don't wish to go through my previous 192 posts to find the sucker, I shall write about Handicap Parking Spaces...again.

Thanks to someone I follow on Twitter, who shall remain nameless (and genderless) as to protect their identity, the subject has once more come to me, especially with Christmas shopping in full swing and the fact that some shoppers can be real humbugs about parking lots and parking spaces.

My Mother and Father-In-Law both have poor health. Primarily my Mother-In-Law. She has Systemic Lupus. Systemic Lupus affects all the main organs (including lungs and heart), as well as muscles throughout the body. She literally is drained even after a short shopping trip for groceries. It doesn't take much for her to tire out or to bruise, or get sore throughout her body.

When she goes to public places, she parks in Handicap stalls. She looks fine. She walks fine. She sees and hears just fine. She walks (for the most part) fine. But indeed, she IS legally disabled.

No one can see (unless you REALLY know her, or of her condition) her internal handicap. Her illness that is tucked within her own body.

So, when she climbs out of her van and starts walking "normally" in to the store, I have been witness to a few stares and sneers. People in general think that she is just being lazy.

Yes, she is heavy set (not fat), but that is NOT due to being "lazy" or over eating, seeing as she has to watch her intake, due to her Colostomy Bag (that she craps in to, having only two INCHES of her colon, thanks to cancer). The Lupus plays with your weight as well.

And it can mess up her breathing. After a while, you can hear her breaths get heavier, as she tires. Hence why her trips to the store are as minimal as she can make them.

When I was little (as in a toddler), I was allowed to be on "Day Trips" from the hospital (for new readers, I didn't go home until I was almost 3 YEARS old, due to many medical problems at birth). My parents had a Handicap Sticker to use when I was with them, seeing as I had to have my medical equipment close by in the car in case I had a breathing situation (a suctioning machine for my trache).

An elderly lady called the police on my parents (I know I spoke of this last time lol) because she didn't see where any of us were handicapped and "required" a spot for those that were REALLY handicapped.

Needless to say, my parents were caught off guard when a Police Officer side stepped them inside the store and let them know what was transpiring. After hearing this, my mother took me (in the cart) and walked off to "cool down" after eying the lady that made the report.

My poor dad. He had to take the officer outside and SHOW HIM the equipment, sitting there on the floorboard of the back seat area of the car. The Police Officer thanked him and apologized for the intrusion and the trouble (as well as the embarrassment) that the situation caused.

After going back inside, the officer pulled the lady aside and let her have it for being a nosy old bag. He even took HER to see that INDEED I was LEGALLY afforded that spot and why. Also, she got a better look at ME, sitting in the cart and started to cry (by my understanding of what my dad said), all the while apologizing to my parents.

My mother walked off without accepting the apology, due to the humiliation and the rudeness of the woman in the first place. Plus, it kept Mom from wanting to punch the old woman (by what was told).

So, the next time you see someone parking in a designated Handicap spot, don't be so quick to judge by their outward appearance. You don't know their full medical history and what may be going on internally.

Believe me when I say that there are days when I really wish I had a sticker/plate due to my son and his "outbursts" (due to his mental disorders that LEGALLY make him 'disabled' by our state) that he has. I'd be able to get him out of where we are and out to the car MUCH quicker when an episode hits. Most of the time, we are parked most of the way towards the end of the lot area. Just my luck I guess.

A Public Service Announcement to ANONYMOUS Commentators...

My friend, Angel over at Angel Believes has already covered these kinds of comments in a Vlog. Now, it's my turn.

WARNING!! This will most likely be "adult-like" language laced, due to being pretty mad. Consider yourself warned.

I'm open to all points of view. And I am receptive to other's opinions. As long as they are of the subject at hand.

What I have a MAJOR problem with is ANONYMOUS comments. Especially when you are SPAMMING my page with bull shit that doesn't even belong to what the blog topic is all about.

I really don't give a shit about penile enhancers, or any other sexually enhancing products. I may not always be a happy homemaker. But I sure as hell am one helluva happy wife in the bedroom department.

If you are going to leave comments on *MY* page, you better damn well put your name to it. Unless it's a topic such as abuse or the paranormal, being that those are two areas that some people are too scared to admit that they are interested in, or that they are being hurt by someone that SHOULD BE loving them.

Especially when you wish to spam my pages with *YOUR* blog invitation, or stupid ads. It makes YOU look like a gutless piece of crap.

And a word of warning... Don't you EVER let me catch you spamming a post about my children with shit like penile enhancers or anything else to do with sex. Anonymous or not. Because I *will* hunt your ass down and you *will* be mine to deal with.

Not only me, but I know of at least one or two of my BFF blogging buddies that you really don't want to piss off and catch you doing your spamming, either. If you think I'm bad, then you REALLY don't want to piss Angel off. The Devil himself cries and cowers when he hears that woman's feet hit the floor each morning.

So, Anonymous, consider this both your first, and especially your LAST warning. Because next time I catch you on my page, spamming with your shit, it's on. Got it? Good.

Now put your name to it, or don't post it. Have a nice day.