the number 13

Olivia’s Prayer July 23, 2009

Filed under: The Littles — numbr13 @ 10:16 pm

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Every single night is the same… I tuck the little girl into bed and we take turns praying. I kneel next to her bed and place by head on her tummy and she routinely plays with a strand of my hair. Sometimes she prays first, sometimes I do.

I’ve been reading a lot about cults lately and all the horrid things that have happened in them and so it weighed heavily on my mind tonight as I kneeled next to the little girl. I prayed thanks that we are free, that we think on our own, that we have the Bible and it’s words to guide us, that we are safe. I followed this by praying as I always do for people we know and the things happening in their lives and then it was Olivia’s turn to pray.

Olivia prays for the same thing every night, too. She thanks God for everything great that happens to us and then she asks him for a Daddy. Prayer is the only time of day that she mentions a daddy. In the past she was more specific: Dean. She wanted her daddy. But tonight’s prayer took a different turn and it was foreign on my ears…. at least coming from her.

“Lord, I love you. I know that Daddy isn’t coming back. I didn’t used to know that but I know it now. Lord, do you think you could bring me a new Daddy? I really want one, God.”

Then she asked me to also pray for a new Daddy and in the past I may have tried to get around that one but she had broken my heart so I immediately closed my eyes tightly and spoke, “Lord God… I come to you asking that you bring us a father for this family. I ask that you give us a man who will pray with us, play with us, laugh, cry and work hard for us. We can do this on our own, Lord, with you and you alone… we live it and succeed at it every day. We are living testimony that it can be done. But these children deserve to have a father, Lord, and I just pray that you bring them one.”

She smiled at me, satisfied, and then said very sweetly, “Mommy,when you run away Janie is going to have to babysit us and be our new Mommy.”

The words stung my heart. Janie is our thirteen year old neighbor.

I took her hand and placed it on my cheek. “Olivia, Janie can’t have you. I won’t give you up. I’m not going anywhere and I never will. I’m not going to leave you. Ever.”

She was thinking. Then, “Mommy, when will I die?”

“Not for a very long time but even when you do, guess what? You’ll go to Heaven and get to see Jesus.”

She squealed in delight over this and clasped her hands underneath her grin so tightly that I suddenly worried that I shouldn’t ever glorify heaven to her so much that she might off herself to get there sooner. I shuddered at this and she must have noticed because she suddenly asked, “Is Heaven beautiful?” and I said, “More than any place you have ever seen. When you play with the water there, it will play back. And, Jesus is there.”

Grinning again a smile so wide I thought she might break her face she whispered, “Is God there?”

I could hear her excitement.

“Yep. God is there. And when you see him you know what he will say? He will say, ‘Olivia, remember when you were a little girl and you used to cry and be sad because you missed your Daddy? And you used to call out to me and wonder if I could hear you? I was right there the whole time. I spoke but you couldn’t hear me and so I cried with you. I cried because I hurt for your broken heart.'” I paused and watched her watching me intently.

“And God will also say, ‘And do you remember when you caught your first ladybug and you sat watching it crawl on your finger and you were so pleased that it had trusted you so much, that it had chosen you to rest on? Do you remember the joy and pride you had when that happened? I had joy, too. I was proud, too, that that ladybug had chose to bless your tiny hand. As your eyes lit, my heart lit up, too. I love you so much and always have.'”

I was whispering all of this to her as to not wake up Emi and she was peaceful now and happy again and sleepy. I could tell that she had much to say in prayer after I left the room and so I tucked her quilt up around her and kissed her on the nose and left the room, teasing for a moment by growling, “As for Janie…. if it’s a fight she desires then so shall it be! I shall fight her to the death for she cannot have my Olivia! Olivia… is MINE!” and I heard her giggles from under her blanket as I closed the door behind me.

Down here in the peace of the night… the kids asleep upstairs… I am just so lucky. So blessed.

Life is good.

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I’m jealous. July 15, 2009

Filed under: Mormonology,The Littles,VLOGOGRAPHY — numbr13 @ 8:49 am
Tags: ,
The Lovebirds

The Lovebirds

And it shall come to pass that Olivia has a boyfriend who is everything a woman should want in a man and I am jealous.

She is blond. She has great big blue eyeballs and smochy lips. She has a huumongous butt and if genetics mean anything at all, she is set to possess a huge rack.

“I’m afraid for you.” he says.

At four years old… she’s got the boys calling. It’s skeery. But, she has eyes for only ONE man… LOL.

 

More For Me Than For You… July 7, 2009

(This dude is so hot it's downright Ridonkulous.)

(This dude is so hot it's downright Ridonkulous.)

Because everyone needs to know everything about Robert Pattinson I have taken the liberty of writing up this brief biographical blog post and, just so you know… every word of it is truth.

He was born May 13th of 1986 which makes him legal 23 years old and grew up in London, England where he was born because the fucking British have it so lucky. His mom worked for a modeling studio and his dad did some shit involving cars.

Moving on.

Rob (I get to call him this because we’re on that level, dontcha know) did a bit of theater and whatnot in highschool and modeled for abit until he realzed that that made him somewhat gay and so he cut it out and concentrated more on the acting thing which is less gay. He scored a pretty decent role in a Harry Potter movie and I’ll be fucking damned if my heart wasn’t shattered when his character was killed right off. As if I didn’t see it coming but still.

Rest in peace Cedric Diggory, you sexy underage hunk, you. *sniff*

Rest in peace Cedric Diggory, you sexy underage hunk, you. *sniff*

I didn’t feel at all guilty for fantasizing sexually about him as a teenager. But I admit I feel better knowing that now, when I molest him in my mind, he’s at least of legal age.

But moving on from that personal sidenote…

After the whole Harry Potter thing he did some other junk and then landed a role playing Edward Cullen in the movie and book franchise Twilight with that whore Kristen Stewart who blinks too much and truly distracts from the hawtness story line if you ask me  (which you didn’t but I’ll tell you anyways.) Now that he’s done Twilight, I guess he’s sort of a big deal but there has been other stuff going on in his life that he has attempted to keep out of the media’s watchful gaze.

At some point between filming all of this shit he’s been doing he met and fell deeply in love with some chick in Washington named Keira. He finds her to be the most beautiful and amazing woman he has ever met and  married her spontaneously in a private ceremony just months ago. He has swept  her off her feet and taken her and her beautiful children to live in a ginormous castle full of awesomeness where he devotes his life to making them truly happy. With all his damned sexiness.

The end.

My husband is so handsome.

My husband is so handsome.

 

Git R’ Dun July 4, 2009

Filed under: The Littles — numbr13 @ 10:32 am

fireworks-crackers

 

Somebody could have warned me that fireworks cost a shitload of money. I suppose I thought it would be an inexpensive endeavor but it sure wasn’t. And it could have been a lot worse had I been more committed to generating a powerful night full of explosives for my kids. Thank God I don’t care that much.

I showed up to the fireworks stand about twenty minutes before they opened and leaned casually against the outside of the tent thingy smoking a cigarette much to the horror of the owner who immediately rushed outside to explain the dangers of smoking near shitloads of explosives. Right. Gotcha.

So, I moved fifty feet away and continued smoking innocently commiting to a figure in my head about how much I would spend. I committed to about twenty bucks thinking that this would get me a whole bunch of crap to blow up. Then, the stand opened up and I went inside only to discover that my twenty dollar pledge would acquire us one box of sparklers.

RIDONKULOUS.

Okay, so it wasn’t really that bad but it was close. There were NO actual fireworks there under twenty bucks. Sparklers and pop-its and stuff were a bit cheaper but still quite appalling. I ended up spending about forty bucks on seven boxes of sparklers and three teensy, wittle fireworks that were intended for smaller kids to be able to set off.

I was irritated about this until I woke up this morning and realized that I could use the lack of money spent as a threat against my children. I didn’t spend a ton of money so I have no qualms against taking it all away, I told them. You will do your chores or you won’t go out tonight and blow shit up. Your choice.

Had I spent three hundred bucks there is no way I’d be threatening this nonsense. We’d be setting that shit on fire come hell or high water just out of the principal that I spent that much money.

This is sort of like how I am always telling my kids, “you’d better pick up your crap because in about five minutes I’m going to vaccuum and ANYTHING left on my floor is going to go in the garbage.” Until I look at the floor and realize that there is a PSP on the floor and that that son of a bitch set me back about $200. Fuck that. I’m not throwing away anything I spent that much money on.

And size doesn’t matter. I am constantly stopping myself from vaccuming up Lego pieces because I recognize the damned thing as being from a set I paid $80 for. If I vaccum up that one piece the entire set is ruined. Damn it!!!!

It is hardly effective to threaten my children when they don’t spend any of their money on shit. All I’m doing is threatening to waste my own cash.

I am very excited that I have finally found a holiday I can use to get things done. I want their rooms cleaned. They want to set shit on fire tonight. If they don’t do it then they won’t step foot out of this house.  Plain and simple.

This is what I hate, though: They are going to make this hell on me. They are going to fight with each other and bicker and complain over every step of this process and by the end of it I am going to be balding and bug-eyed with smoke pouring out of my ears. It’s ten thirty in the morning and I already want to kick their asses.

It’s hot. Blech.

 

Spicy Dog Shit July 3, 2009

Filed under: Eat Me,The Littles — numbr13 @ 8:15 am

As a single mother of four small children with loads of extra time on her hands to spend in the kitchen cooking seven course gourmet meals I might occasionally take a break and produce something a bit…. simpler… for our evening sit-downs:

This is not steak and potatoes. It isn’t roasted chicken with fresh vegetables in a lemon-herb sauce. It’s not stuffed pork-chops with garlic roasted asparagus. It’s not even spaghetti.

It’s Hamburger fuckin’ Helper.

I feel like a dirtbag when I feed my kids Hamburger Helper so I feel the need to church it up a bit. This particular dish consists of Three Cheese HH and is topped with Frank’s Hot Sauce, jalapenos and, um, crushed up Doritos.

Classy!

What truly blew my mind about this creation is that my freaky ass kids LOVED it. “This is the best meal you’ve ever cooked, Mom!” they proclaimed. Friggin’ outrageous. I have spent countless hours in that kitchen attempting to cook them dinners that most would consider to be like fine dining (*snort*) and they always have some sort of complaint. So, I prepare them something that looks like straight up dog shit and is almost too spicy for them to consume and they Five Star that motherfucker.

I swear to God, I do not understand my kids. I love them… but I do not understand them. I’m not even going to try to pretend to. What I do know is that, tonight, when I cook them steak and mashed potatoes and sweet peas they will probably bitch to no end until I put all of their food in the blender and grind it into a paste, top it with gravy and ketchup and crumbled up Fritos and serve it up. I’m sure the reviews will be positive.

I was so not like this as a kid. I held my mother to some very high standards. Her cooking better have been some restaraunt quality shit. I remember when she began serving cheesy Rice-a-Roni and I was appalled. How dare she raise four children and work a full time job and come home and try to feed me this garbage? Oh, no. That was completely unacceptable.

My children are weird. Matthew will only eat food that is white: milk, bread, plain noodles, eggs… I consistantly remind him that his lack of vegetables will cause him to develop scurvy but my threats do nothing. Owen is a full blown vegetarian… the polar opposite of Matt. Owen would be happy to eat salad for every meal of every day. Olivia will eat anything so long as it isn’t overcooked in anyway. If I accidentally burn the bottom of something she refuses to eat it. Emi is a guppy and will eat until she explodes. Doesn’t matter if it’s off the floor, out of the trash, found next to a dumpster, on the toilet seat of a public bathroom or if it is actual food. She will eat it.

I like my food to be un-contaminated and looking very pretty. Like it’s chef. (which is me, retards) I prefer it to never have seen the cardboard inside of a box (unlike me) and I like it to have at least three ingredients. Then, I like to disguise any and all flavors produced by the three+ ingredients by smothering the entire lot of it with hot sauce.

Simple. Easy. Edible. (also like me).

I am so sick of my kids’s high expectations with ther food. Although I must admit… that Hamburger Helper shit was off the hook…. I fear that my children will try to feed it to their children and their children’s children causing it to be some kind of recipe passed down for generations and I will be shamed and humiliated for generations to come when, one day, someone informs one of them that Hamburger Helper is NOT gourmet.

OMG. I’m never making that shit again.

 

Like, Totally. July 2, 2009

Filed under: Opinions — numbr13 @ 10:13 am

Who.

Inthehell.

Decided it was acceptable to bring back the 80’s???

I couldn’t deal with the 80’s when I LIVED during the 80’s. Now, I am forced to re-live some kind of horrid, fashion nightmare all over again.

I remember wanting to vomit as my mother (the wretched shrew) plastered me with neon polk-a-dot patterns and, oh sweet Jesus… paint splatter prints. I remember wandering just why I was such a loser at school because I didn’t feel the need to tie up my ginormous day-glo off the shoulder t-shirt with a hot-pink scrunchie at the hip. I remember my feet sweating like a set of testicles as they were layered with many different colors of socks and then smooshed down. Why no one ever invented just one sock that had thick, horizontal stripes on it to be smooshed… I dunno. They would have made a fortune and my feet wouldn’t have looked like wrinkly old man feet at the end of every single fuckin’ day of the 1980’s.

I remember rocking a side ponytail during the earlier parts of the 80’s and then teasing my bangs into a mean “claw” towards the end.

I remember cursing my curly hair getting constantly tangled in my ridiculsously large, plastic hoop earrings. I remember wearing Zipper earrings that you could only get at Claire’s Boutiques. I remember not only tight rolling my jeans but my sleeves as well and, yes-YES!- I remember the leggings I wore underneath…. everything. And, of course, it was all neon and paint splatter and New Kids on the Block. Oh, my.

This monstrosity died in the 90’s with the onset of the flannel shirts and torn jeans only to be reborn right now, much to my complete horror. This… is not acceptable.

To make matters worse, I work at the mall so I have to be blinded by this nonsense all day long. It has an effect on me… the 80’s comeback can turn even the most classy lady into a complete dork (fun fact: a whales penis is called a Dork). Six months into my job at the mall I was suddenly overcome with this overwhelming need to not only purchase, but wear in public… skinny jeans.

This was a major red flag. I had been mind-controlled. I began avoiding actually entering the mall part of the mall and used back doors. I tried to hide from the 80’s all around me but it has become too much. Thankfully, I am over the skinny jean thing and recovering nicely from the whole endeavor but now I am obsessing over another ridiculous need: I feel that I must immediately purchase leggings and wear them underneath jean shorts.

Arrrrrgh!!!!

I’m not leaving my house until this passes.

I’m terrified right now that I am the ONLY person on the planet who wants to gag over this horrible re-telling of a story that never should have been told in the first place. Surely, there are others out there who still, to this day, wish to kill their mother’s for dressing them in this nonsense? Surely there are others who’s toes were blackened by the “who’s tight-roll is tightest” contests? Surely, there are others out there -like me- who shake their heads and marvel at just how butt-fucking ugly everyone else on the planet is who are willingly going along with this madness?

It has to stop. I can’t take it any longer. And now I am terrified of the time when people bring back 2009 because to bring back 2009 will be to once again bring back the 80’s. GAG.

I refuse to wear four watches.
I refuse to wear jelly shoes.
Lace is not an acceptable trim for denim.
Leg warmers need only to be worn by ballerinas.
Jackson Pollack is NOT a clothing designer.
I refuse to draw a mole on my face with black eyeliner.
I will not wear neon animal prints.
I will not wear pleather.
I will not wear ginormous plastic belts.
I will not use a crimping iron.
I will not wear any jewelry made out of zippers, safety pins or telephone cords.
I will not wear a button up vest over a tshirt.
I will not cut sweatshirts off above the navel and off the shoulder and wear them over a onesie. With high-waisted jeanshorts over leggings with legwarmers and high-heeled boots.

Just thinking about this is making me want to barf. (the word barf first originated in the 1940’s which is NOT the 1980’s) I am wondering how long this (fad?) is going to last and when we as humans will get original and stop returning to places of the past to seek our fashion trends. Even space suits have been done (in the 80’s) so, really, if you think about it– we’re just fucked. The future of fashion is completely fucked right up the ass. We can’t even wear human flesh because that one was already made famous as well (albeit The Silence of the Lambs came out in 1991, naaaarrrroooowly missing the 80’s) Well, poo.

I think we should all just bring it back way old-skoo’ and just go neckid.

Whatcha think?

 

Oh, What a Thriller July 1, 2009

Filed under: Tales of the Weird,The Littles,VLOGOGRAPHY — numbr13 @ 10:10 am
Tags: , ,

With Michael Jackson dying and whatnot his face and junk has been plastered all over creation much to the supreme annoyance of myself. He is all over the news, every magazine cover and I can’t even visit Perez Hilton anymore without dealing with the projectile of Jackson nonsense. Enough is enough!

Even the kids have gotten interested. I was inititally irritated by that as well until I found them all holed up in my living room attempting to learn the choreoghraphy to Thriller. They were serious about it, too. I have never seen them concentrate so hard on anything before. It was hilarious.

I made them redo it so that I could video tape it to show at their weddings and embarrass the shit right out of them. It simply must be done.

I keep watching it over and over again because every time I do I see more and more ridiculum. My children are so themselves on this thing… Matt is trying to be center stage, competing with his friend Zach who is clearly and easily the best dancer of the bunch. Olivia the Princess is getting all emotional over her territory and Owen gives up on the dance about halfway through to just spin around and do his own thing, jumping on people until they almost punch him in the nose.

I just sat there giggling.

This was what I walked in on after I made that adorable little video down there of Emi going night night. Such a sweet moment followed by some extreme weirdness. My kids are the greatest. Uncontrollable at times but they make me laugh.

Real blog post later… just wanted to share this and now I am off to grab some coffee.