Not Today, Glitter Tits

My eighteen-year-old is exhausting. He was once the five-year-old who asked question after question after question. We would be stuck in the mother*ckn car for TEN hours, and he would ask a question. I would answer it. Then, I would hear this: 

Why?

👀🤯

I would smile, take a deep breath, and answer his question.

Silence. 

I sigh with relief, open a book, and…

Why?

🤬 <- That’s what was going through my mind.

That cute, blonde-headed boy with blue-green eyes was exhausting. I should’ve realized it was a sign of what my future would look like. He’s the hugger who leaves a dust of shit clinging in the air, suffocating you as he walks away. He’s the person who clicks his pen the entire time you’re speaking with him. Annoying. As. F*ck.

Recently, I made the decision to get the Covid vaccination. I’ve heard all the conspiracy theories… I’m getting the devil’s mark injected into me… I’m going to die in six months… population control at its finest… Yada, yada, yada. Look, y’all, I don’t care if you choose not to get vaccinated. I follow the beat of my own drum, and I’m gonna do me. Period. Like it, or leave it. IDGAF. 

Anyway, after I tell my eldest son… the annoying gremlin… that I’m getting the Covid vaccination, this is the text I get:

I had just taken a drink, and I splattered that sh*t all over my car. F******ck.

My kid’s annoying, but he’s funny… sometimes.

After a scheduling fiasco, I was eventually stabbed in my arm. Afterward, I sat in the chair, and I somehow managed not to pass out. #score

Later that night, my annoying gremlin wants me to pick him up from my sister’s after I explicitly told him earlier in the day I had homework, and I wasn’t going to pick him up hours later. He was either going home with me, or I’d pick him up tomorrow. And… this is the text I get:

I snorted. Rolled my eyes. Not today, glitter tits. Not today.

~Tiff~

Gremlin Wars

If you’ve been following my blog for a minute, you know I’m stuck in a house filled with testosterone. I’m flying solo. When you’re the only estrogen in the house, you have to do some dirty sh*t to survive. For example, when the eldest gremlin is annoying me and is being a straight up dick, I tell him I’m flowin’ hard as I shove my hand down my underwear, pull it out and attempt to wipe it on him. Sounds disgusting, right? It absofuckinglutely is. That’s the point. His @$$ got up and moved. He left me alone. My hand might’ve smelled a little fishy, might’ve been tinged pink, but I had peace and quiet. #winning

After the eldest gremlin’s shenanigan’s this past week, I’ve turned up my game. B*tch ain’t gonna know what hit him. I’m struttin’ around like, What? You wanna take a shitty picture of me and draw a motherf*ckn dick in front of my face? That’s cool. I got you.

After I came up with brilliant idea to shave my feminine area, keep whatever came off, and sprinkle that sh*t like fairy dust over him while he’s asleep, I’ve used that sh*t to mess with his head. Here’s a snippet of the first conversation:

In the last picture, he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth or not. Doesn’t matter. It’s in his head, and every time he finds one of his wiry beard hairs in his bed, the thought’s gonna cross his mind that it might be from his momma’s nether regions. Bwah ha ha. Get some, punk.

This morning, I’ve been busy. I’ve been in meetings. I have a job. I don’t get to look at my cell phone every second of the day. This fool has been sending me text messages to call the school to let him check out.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Boy, please. 

This morning’s conversation for your reading pleasure:

Needless to say, I didn’t call the school. 

The moral of this blog is… Don’t f*ck with your momma, bruh. She’s ruthless. #GremlinWars #MommasGotGame #FairyDust

~Tiff~

Gremlin Shenanigans

Y’all… my son, eldest gremlin, might die before he graduates. I’m in the midst of one of the hardest weeks of my MBA, creating book pitches, finessing query letters, yada, yada… you get the point. And this fool straight up takes a pic of me in my shittiest form – no makeup, hair all f*cked up, double chin’s pronounced, and my face – IDK what that look is. To make matters worse, he doodles on it and sends it to my mother*ckn sister who shares it with my mom… and this is the text I receive:

Sexy, huh? Jerk.

Anyway, that was the gift I was given after taking time out of my busy day to move the savings account out of my name and solely into his, and getting a checking account opened in his name. He has checks and a debit card now… sh*t’s getting real up in here. On the ride home, I was telling him he needed to keep some of the money saved to where if his car needs tire or breaks down, he can cover it. Momma’s not paying for repairs. Momma’s not covering overdraft fees, either. Welcome to #adulting.

After seeing the picture, I’m tempted to shave my feminine area, keep whatever comes off, wait until he’s asleep, and sprinkle that sh*t like fairy dust. *Boom* He thinks he’s got jokes. Momma’s been around a minute, and that b*tch plays dirty.

Game on.

~Tiff~

Game on.

~Tiff~

Non-Traditional Instruction – Gremlin Style

If someone would have told me a year ago that I would have my two gremlins at home, working on their schoolwork, and I’d be stuck re-learning some of my favorite subjects, I would have asked for something for the pain. A bottle of wine doesn’t. even. touch. it. Listen, to all the science teachers out there, I give you mad props, but this girl detest science. I want to cry, even kick, and scream a little, when my youngest gremlin comes to me needing help with it. I’ve been back through the periodic table, visited the world of neutrons, protons, and electrons, and guess what? I still detest science. No one in my family will be the ones to ever come up with a vaccine. We’re lucky if we know what H2O stands for. Seriously.

So, when the youngest gremlin comes to me needing help with his math work, I feel like I’m pretty decent at it, and I can be a shining light beaming down on him. This isn’t science. I so got this. I smile, and I motion him forward. Until … I see this:

12 Y/O Gremlin Writing

Like, what am I supposed to do with this? My smile faltered, and I just stared at him with a dumb stricken look on my face. Like, what the what? Are you even my gremlin? Never have I produced such an atrocity as this unorganized vomit spewed across the page.

I literally sat down during my lunch break to try to decipher what my kid had written. Who writes like this? It was equivalent to trying to read an alien language no human being had ever mastered. Is this a male thing? Does it get better when they’re adults? I dunno. I’ve seen my husband’s chicken scratch, and I’m going to bet our gremlins are probably screwed.

What’s even sadder is that I even turned the freakin’ paper as if that somehow was going to magically make it make sense enough to read. Luckily, I received an email from his teacher that he did really well on the math test, which was what the paper I was trying to decipher was. I had literally just resigned myself to having him open the quiz back up as I stared over his shoulder to see what the problems were. She was, and is, a heroine in my book.

There was a time that being a teacher had crossed my mind. My gremlins have completely shattered that thought over the past year. I’m not fit to be a teacher. It makes me grumbly. I’m like a toddler sitting in a corner with their hands folded across their chest as they pout. Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t get near me. I might even bite anyone who gets close. All the parents out there who are a little balder and stay quite a bit drunker now, I completely understand. Cheers to you, and cheers to the teachers who teach our offspring day in and day out. Bless your beautiful souls.

~Tiff~

Homeschooling Gremlins

The gremlins have been at home for a week as of Friday morning. I haven’t pulled my hair out … yet. I have another three weeks with them – two weeks that will consist of them doing schoolwork. The youngest is proactive and knocks out his work first thing in the morning. The eldest gremlin, well, he gets on my last nerve. He is the procrastinator. He wants to wait until the very last second, then rush to get it all done. Me? I cannot live my life like that. I like to be ahead of the game. I like to have room to breathe. I am a planner. I have learned over the past week that homeschooling gremlins can be maddening.

There were times in my life where the thought about being a teacher crossed my mind. Then I would think of the parents I would have to deal with and that was the end of that rambling idea. I think quite a few parents give teachers hell, but at what point do we look at our own home to see if the source of the problem isn’t the teacher, but us? There have been times when I had conversations with teachers about my eldest gremlin as he made his way through the school year. There was a point in time where he was goofing off all the time in class. I didn’t blame the teacher, y’all. Here’s what I did:

  1. I found an old school desk.
  2. Bought workbooks for his grade level – math, science, reading, etc.
  3. Placed the desk at the end of the hallway, facing the wall.

When he get home, he soon learned that his spring break was consisting of schoolwork. I used this moment to teach him a life lesson. Wasting someone’s time and not respecting it when they are trying to make you better isn’t kosher. Needless to say, he stopped goofing off in class. He knew that if he wasted his teacher’s time, mom was going to eat away at his free time with more schoolwork to make up for it.

It is easy to focus on blaming everyone else, but I think it is good practice to look at all the factors, including ourselves. I know I am far from perfect, and I know my gremlins are far from perfect. We’re human, and we’re constantly learning and evolving. That’s life.

After the youngest gremlin finished his schoolwork last week, I was duped into playing a video game with him. In the course of a few minutes, I believe I was killed a hundred times. Every time I would see the enemy, I would have to look down at all of the buttons on the remote. My brain was like sludge as I tried to remember what my eleven-year-old said each one did. I would end up hitting the button to jump instead of shoot. Then … I died. I even tried to use the youngest gremlin’s guy as a shield. The jerks would come from behind, and … I still died. After only killing a handful of the enemy in thirty minutes, I plopped the remote down, ruffled my gremlin’s hair, turned and walked out with my head held high. I figured I’d stop while I was ahead. I killed a few. I thought I had done well.

Later that night, my youngest gremlin came into the living room chuckling. Merriment sparkled in his dark eyes as he said to my husband, “Mom’s really awful. She died all the time. You really suck at playing the game, mom.”

I really wanted to stick my tongue out at him, but I could see my husband’s slow smile cracking across his face out of my peripheral.

“That bad, huh?” asked my husband, smiling so hard his cheeks had to be hurting. In my mind, I flipped him off, but instead … I just sat there, ignoring them.

“Yep.”

Y’all, I really need some estrogen in this house. Lord, save me from these gremlins.

~Tiff~ #momofgremlins

The Pooter Gremlin

I know it has been a few days since I blogged. Some of you might have been wondering if I survived the onslaught of male teenagers that invaded my home over the weekend. Somehow, I managed to live through it. Watching teenage gremlins interact is perplexing at times. There’s just a big part of me that wonders about their thought processes and maybe someone else can weigh in on it because I just don’t get it. While they’re laughing like hysterical hyenas, I’m looking at them like they’re all buffoons.

There’s a stupid, little black rubber device that makes farting noises when you squeeze it. It is the dumbest thing EVER. My adolescent gremlin has been ‘borrowing’ it from one of his friends for over a week, and I loathe the stupid thing. Y’all want to know what it’s called? Take a wild guess. It’s a genius name, or so I’m told. It’s called … The Pooter. Not. Even. Kidding. Within the last few weeks, I had the pleasure of watching the movie Idiocracy, and I wonder if that’s what our future generation is actually going to look like. Here it is, The Pooter:

So, as I was giving the death stare to The Pooter my gremlin was holding, he pulled out his cell phone and showed me a video. I watched it, and I laughed. I’m so mad that I laughed, but his friend’s reaction was hilarious. Here it is for your enjoyment:

I always thought I would have a girl, but I managed to churn out gremlins instead. I’m a little bit of a girly girl. I like fixing my hair, doing my make-up, painting my nails and all that jazz. I have lovely smelling lotions in every bathroom along with perfumes and pretty little bottles of deliciously smelling soaps. As I paint my nails, I get to hear my gremlins discuss the fact that I literally just painted my nails two days ago. I want to give them the bird, but I continue painting my nails and let it roll off because I know their sense of time sucks. It had been a week since I painted my nails, and I wasn’t going to be needled by gremlins that can’t find a massive bottle of ketchup in the fridge when it is literally almost smacking them in the face when they open the stupid doors. #micdrop

This is my life. On the bright side, when I have other gremlins over, I have the pleasure of listening to them “rap”. My gremlin says he’s the producer because he’s good at editing. I always tell them to shoot for the stars and to dream big, so I will never be the one to tell them they can’t do something because the odds are against them. That it’s impossible. I believe the impossible is possible. You will hear so many noes in your life, folks, but it only takes one yes. Life is about learning from your mistakes. It’s about chasing the impossible dream. Maybe these boys never make it rapping. Maybe I never make it writing. But, when we leave this Earth and take our last breath, at least we tried.

~Tiff~  #momofgremlins

Straight Up Sucka

Y’all want to know something about me that I’m just kind of accepting about myself? I’m a straight up sucka when it comes to furry little creatures and kids selling random junk. I. Can’t. Say. No. It’s a serious problem that I’m unable to correct. You’d think my husband would help curb it. He doesn’t it. He just looks at me and smiles because he knows what’s coming.

My entire life I’ve been a dog person. They’re my spirit animal. They’re the blackberry jelly to my biscuit. They bring me happiness, and I enjoy having them around. Maybe part of it is because I get to be the leader of a pack. Makes me feel a like badass for a few seconds, then it sinks in that I have Shih Tzus and my badass meter drops down to zero. They’re happy balls of fur. If someone came into my house, they would be attacked by tongues…that’s about it. Fierce little creatures, right? So, when a kitten showed up on my deck one day, I stared at it in a stupor. What is this thing? Why is it here?

I immediately went to social media and posted a picture of the critter. Lost a kitten? Want a kitten? Come get ‘er. Right. Now. And…zero response. I live in an area where houses are not stacked one on top of the other. I live in cow country. Fields and cows with a house here and there. That’s pretty much it. I told my youngest gremlin not to touch the kitten, not to look at the kitten, do not talk to the kitten – ignore it and it will go away. Great advice, right? Well, guess what? That shit did not work. She stayed, and my heart wept a little as I heard her poor, pitiful meows. I caved. Completely, utterly freakin’ caved. I fed her. I gave her water. That pretty much sealed the deal.

A few weeks passed by, and we bought her a house. Then treats, toys, a scratching post, other senseless things. Catch a glimpse of the intruder here:

Yeah, she got me. She’s now been vaccinated, and I just had her spayed this week. I’ve never been a cat person, but this kitten pushed her way into my life, and I bowed to her wishes. The thoughts of her never finding a home or being euthanized ran rampant in my mind, and I ended up taking on the responsibility of caring for another animal. Maybe that’s why I have dogs that try to follow me home after going for a run? It’s like they have a sucka meter ingrained in them that points directly at me.

I am a straight up sucka, y’all. When there are kids standing outside of a store selling awful popcorn, I shove my money at them and tell them to keep the popcorn for themselves. They receive so many noes from people that I can’t be another. They’re putting themselves out there, and I think we should encourage them. Lift them up. So on and so forth. You get the picture.

So, I now have a cat and less money. See – furry little creatures & kids = Tiff’s weaknesses.

~Tiff, AKA Straight Up Sucka ~

Slipping Time

Most days, I feel young. Like run across a field, dance in the flowers, young. That wasn’t the case yesterday. My eldest offspring, the eldest of my Gremlins, turned seventeen. He probably thought his mom was back to being a whack job as I stared at him with a mixed look of love and trepidation. I know he doesn’t get it but some of y’all might as I tell you what was going through this lovely brain of mine.

At first, I thought about the first moment I held him at the ripe ol’ age of nineteen. I knew I was going to do whatever I needed to do to create a life this mewling, scrunched-up face baby deserved. It was a pivotal moment in my life. That’s the moment I began to learn what it meant to love someone unconditionally. As a later-in-life Christian, I’ve heard the preaching about being gay is a sin and all that jazz, but you know what? If my son told me he was gay, I wouldn’t banish him from my home. I wouldn’t stop loving him. I would hug him and be the mom he needs me to be. Who am I to judge? I’ll leave that for our Father when the time comes. There is enough hate and judgement in the world that I’m not going to cast any stones. I don’t believe that’s why we’re here. How can we preach to people about the gospel in one breath, then spew judgement and hate in the next? It doesn’t align, folks. It. Just. Doesn’t.

I learned to love because of my child. It made me re-evaluate every decision in my life. I was with a man who didn’t value me. Who made me feel small and question my self-worth. Did I really want to raise my child with the relationship I was in as an example of what people in ‘love’ looked like? I didn’t. Maybe some people judged me for walking away, but as I sit here typing sixteen years later – it was one of the best decisions I ever made. I met a man who valued what I had to say, who treated me like I was worth more than what I even thought I was worth, and he treated my child like he was his own. We’ve been married fourteen years, and we’re still going strong. Our house is filled with laughter and love, which is how it should be. I may fail at everything else in life, but my family life isn’t one of them.

So, that’s why I had the silly, love look on my face before it turned to trepidation. Trepidation because the thoughts started flying through my mind of what I was doing when I was seventeen. Man, we’re so dumb at that age. We think we have life figured out when the reality is we don’t have the first clue. Next year, he’ll be stepping into this vast world as an adult, paving his own way through life. That is scary.

I thought about my children growing up. I thought about how fast time slipped past me like a thief in the night. I’m trying to soak in every single moment with my kids before they leave my nest to create their own. We can chase the dream of rising to the top of a corporate ladder or of building an empire, but no matter how much money you make, you can’t buy back time. You can’t buy back the moments you missed while you were traversing across the country for your job. Moments are precious. Cherish them. Always.

~Tiff~

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