Lucky Thirteen and Counting

If you ever want to get the shit kicked out of you, just call my Dad “old.”  He hates being old, and getting old, and looking old, and especially feeling old.  But nothing is worse than being called “old man.” 

I don’t blog much about my dad, one because he reads, two because I love him, and three and most importantly, I am a female version of him.  I can’t very well be trash talking my dad when I see him everyday in myself. 

My dad is a functioning alcoholic. He has had a drinking problem for as long as I have known him.  There are times it makes him the life of the party, and times it makes him the butt of every joke.  There are times the alcohol actually helps, and times it paralyses him.  All of that is just a little info to better understand him and me in this story. 

The first time I ever saw my dad swing a punch at one of my brothers was when we were in high school. They were old enough to get punched and also old enough to know better than to push our intoxicated fathers buttons. 

I don’t remember the entire story, just what has been passed on from family party to family party.  But the part I do remember is that when my brother said “come on old man,”  That was probably the last thing he remembered saying.  I think the fight was at the top of the stairs, and at it ended in a pile at the bottom of the stairs with my mother crying and peeling bodies a part. 

Years later when we were all skiing at a resort, some young punk skied past my father and yelled, “Watch out Old Man.” My dad seethed and we honestly all feared for the idiot’s life the rest of the day. 

Just a few months ago, my dad beat the shit out of my youngest brother.  Again, of course, the alcohol was flowing and they both had been drinking at the bar.  The youngest brother said everything he could to push my fathers buttons and when we finally called him on, with “show me what you got old man” The punches started flying…as did a TV, and a mirror, and “youngest brother” as well.  He left out the door and he drove home.

The reason for this story is that I have discovered another piece of dad in me today.  I hate being old. I hate feeling old. But most of all, I hate looking old.  But I never realized until today how negatively it affects me when someone else says I’m old. 

I don’t want to make a big deal of being a victim on a hate blog, but yesterday, I was, and people can say mean things.  I owned up to most of it. I know who I am. I know what I am.  I also know that when you blog and put your life and truths out there, there are going to be people that hate you for it.  I have made fabulous friends blogging, and sadly I have made enemies too. 

After these commentors went back and forth discussing how horrendous and despicable I was, one of them piped up and said, “I know it’s petty, but she looks so old.  For only being thirty-seven she looks much older.”  

And that was the comment that stopped me in my tracks.  I didn’t feel like punching anyone in the face, but I felt like I had been punched in the gut.  I wanted to climb in bed and pull the covers over my head.  Am I that vain that something so stupid could ruin my day?  I guess I am.  Clearly my botox injections aren’t doing what they promised.  I don’t want to look old.  I don’t really want to look 37, so I sure as hell don’t want to look older than that. 

Here’s the thing, Brandon tells me daily how good I look and how beautiful I am.  I honestly think he feels that way.  He loves me and most people wear rose-colored glasses when they are in love.  I think it’s a good thing.  Most of my real friends only see me a few times a year.  I don’t think any of them are going to say,  “Oh my hell Sandi you are looking old.”  First, that would be mean to say to somebody you don’t see everyday.  Second, if they are my true friends, they are going to KNOW that would devastate me and they aren’t going to tell me something like that, that can’t be fixed.  If it can be fixed, can you all let me know how to look younger?  

Mother?   You always tell me the honest, sometimes mean, truth.  Get on this comment section and tell me what to do. 

Is it my hair?

My face?  

Is it my clothes?  

Is it just the overall package?  

Is there a surgeon reading?  Can you help me?  

I DON’T WANT TO BE OLD!  I’m off to mix a drink.  I have turned into my father.  I might as well start drinking like him. It’s kept him young for years.  I’ll see you next week for a shot or two Pop!   

I hate to include the sibling fights, but I never get pictures of Jayden and Hunter.  So here you go, the fight at the pool.  Hunter won this one.  Jayden didn’t stand a chance. He was wet in matter of seconds.  









Have you all noticed Parker hasn’t been in the latest week in pictures?  It’s because, when he is happy, he doesn’t stop running long enough to be shot.  If he isn’t happy, he is pitching a full blown tantrum on the floor.  HOT AND COLD!   He is the WORST baby I have ever had.  I take ownership and responsibility for my role in causing this problem.   I can’t undo it now, so I just keep on holding him and spoiling him rotten!  







Shaylee and Eric have been fabulous.  They are perfect for each other.  Shaylee is the same old Shaylee, which tells me everything I need to know.  Eric fits right in with this crazy family.  I have a feeling we will see a lot of him this summer.  
I hate to even write about what this picture symbolizes, but I feel it’s time to stop ignoring it and recognize it for what it is.  The cardiologists have been telling me me for years that Ty will eventually slow down and tire out.  For years, I never believed them.  He kept up with the kids and at times even out ran them.  Lately, especially this past year, he is running out of steam.  He walks instead of runs.  He still plays, but not as hard. He can’t keep up like he used to and has to rest often.  Ty’s heart was never expected to last as long as it has.  Every year with Ty is a miracle, and selfishly, I would like a lot more of them.  
As promised, the “new” computer room.  I am loving it.  I have a perfect view of the backyard while I am sitting at the computer.  I can blog and supervise Pickle’s latest flower picking obsession simultaneously.  
This is Jayden’s typical pissed off face.  I am getting the stink eye because I spoke to him.  This day resulted in the loss of the computer for attitude problems.  

It’s clear to him my hands are full with the camera and with Ellie, so he is convinced I am the one that is going to throw that extremely slobbery ball he holds in his mouth.  It will be on my bare legs in 3… 2…. 1





I promise I am not trying to give you all a crotch shot, but I want to illustrate the level of smothering I get in the day, right down to the dog.  Calvin is ALWAYS under me.  ALWAYS!  

I trip over this damn dog all day long.  You think he would learn not to be under foot, nope.  I may have special needs animals too.  

I snap and point and say, “Brylee Elizabeth, don’t you dare pick mom’s flowers.”

She turns and points right back at me and picks and EATS my flowers.

When people hear we have 14 kids, they always want to know how we do it.  ”What is meal time like?  How much laundry do you have? etc etc…”  What I want to know is why nobody ever asks What in the Hell does your garage look like with all their stuff?  We have a three car garage.  The VAN is hiding in one of them, the other two are for the kids stuff.  We couldn’t park in the garage if we wanted to.  

Getting ready for our morning walk.  I can do three miles everyday with little effort, but when I am pushing Ellie, I can barely get through 1.5 miles and I am huffing and puffing and sweating like a pig.  If any of you want to increase your work outs, come borrow my weights.  She is the cutest “weight” you will ever see.

Hunter’s first dance.  It was fancy.  It was at the Laguna Niguel Country Club.  He was not excited about it, but he survived.

This is Shaylee’s attempt at dance instruction.  Hunter was unimpressed.  It looked more like “ring around the rosies” to me.

I have about 30 more pictures that have to be posted this week.  I will do part II tomorrow morning.   Shaylee and Eric have doubled the photography in this house.  They both came with their cameras.  So I am working off of four total.  

I have been reflecting all week.  I tend to do that when things are hard.  I was all set to write a post about music and how certain songs I hear on the radio, or from my I-pod, are time stamped in a memory.  Some songs take me back to high school, others to my past marriage. Some take me all the way back to my childhood, listening to songs on 8 tracks, in the motor home.  I was going to share all of my favorite memories and tell you what songs took me where and ask you to share yours with me.  But that post is going to be for a different day, a day that’s not being run by my emotions. 

I have always been a country girl.  I grew up on a steady diet of Alabama and Ronnie Milsap blasting through my mother’s stereo speakers.  When the Oakridge boys released Elvira my little brothers had the 4-part harmony down pat.  They rocked the house, and the car, with their little “um papa um papa’s”

In high school I was a closet country listener.  When I married my first husband that was one of the few things we had in common.  We both loved country and both knew every word to every song.  I knew I loved him the moment that “Dixieland Delight” came on the radio and we both sang the entire song word for word without missing a beat. That was all it took.  We got married a month later.  

So, the problem with country music now, is that it reminds me of my old life.  I don’t listen to it often, and when I do I pay the price.  It always gets me down. This is upsetting to me because I love it, I don’t want it to get me down,  but it makes me all weepy and empty and blue. 

Anyway, back to the real reason I am writing this post, my most favorite artist on earth is Kenny Chesney.  The love I have for him gets me into hot water often and it takes a lot of stroking to chill Brandon out.  But this artist and I share more than a love of the ocean, we are kindred spirits and that doesn’t make Brandon happy either.  This man’s music touches my soul, pierces my heart, and resonates with every fiber of my being.  (I am aware how mellow dramatic I am sounding!)  I can’t think of one song that he has written or that he sings, that doesn’t have a line or two in the lyrics that makes me stop and go, “Holy shit, he knows how I feel.”

For some reason Kenny doesn’t equal country music to me, he is more along the Beach Boys/Jimmy Buffet genre.  So listening to Kenny is NEVER a problem…. only to the other members of this household.  My current favorite is one I have to share with you, it’s dark and it’s deep and I wish I could take credit for writing the lyrics, because honestly, I could have.  

Colby, to the entire family, upon seeing the garbage man outside, “Man, that garbage man is really my type.”

We took a few kids to Newport Beach after school.  

For all the men that may read my blog, just go on and close this page right now, because none of you will understand what I am about to bitch about. 

Ladies, are the men gone? 

Thank GOD!  Because they do not have a clue what I am dealing with and I know you all understand. 

PMS!

That dark, dreary cloud that hangs over my house has rolled on in again.  It’s gloomy and ugly here.  Cold too, despite the beautiful sunny day that seems to be shining all around my neighborhood. 

I’m still hungry.  I can’t seem to get enough to eat.  I am eating about every ten minutes:  Doritos, chocolate, bread, candy, pasta, snack after snack after snack.  Add that to the extra water weight I am bloated with, sprinkle on a shit load of negativity, because I am PMS-ing, and you have a raging bitch every time I look in the mirror. 

Let’s not forget who I live with; seventy-five children, all of them talking to me simultaneously and two dogs that bark every time the door opens, not when the bell rings, when the door opens.  Do you all have any idea how many times a day my door opens?  Holy Shit.  I may kill them. (The dogs not the kids, I don’t need CPS here again.)

I have a raging headache.  It doesn’t go away.  It’s hormonal.  It sucks.

Brandon is so nice… too nice, and he tiptoes around me.  I know he is trying to act normal, but he is doing a shitty job of it.  Too cheery and loving equals annoying as hell.  If he scales it down a bit, he seems pissed off at me.  He can do no right this time of month. 

I have asked him to build me a shrieking shack in the backyard.  I’m thinking, a little casita, around 600 square ft., furnished, WiFi, my own address for pizza deliveries and such.  I can check myself in the last week of every month and hang out alone with my own miserable self, and pity-party my last week of the month right away.

Do you remember in the bible, when they put the women in their own damn tent while they were menstruating?  I think they were on to something.   I’m sure they wanted to pretend it was because sex with bleeding women was not clean.  But truth be told, I bet they locked them up days before the blood ever manifested.  It was the only way, pre-medication, that those men would have survived.  It was for their own protection and truly the protection of all mankind.  God is smarter than we think, people.  He came down and told them it was unholy. In his vision he saw unholy all right.  He saw raging, pissed off women, slaying their husbands, and lover’s, and mothers, and friends, all over the course of one bad day.  

I’m outta here….

I’m going to Dick’s Sporting Goods to buy a tent.  Those assholes better have a good one. 

I grew up in Bountiful Utah.  It’s a lovely place just a few minutes north of Salt Lake City.  I spent my adult life very near Bountiful in the same county.  These past few days I have been missing the food I used to eat. 

For example:

Great Harvest Bread- You can walk in and for .50 cents buy a thick slice of bread. It’s so good. 

Taco-Time- We don’t have a Taco-Time here.  I want a diet coke with Taco-Time ice and crispy chicken burrito. 

Maddox on Main Street in Layton.  I want a chicken strip meal with ranch. 

Robintino’s Pizza- May I have a senetta with a #22 pizza please? 

Wingers- I have blogged about this before.  I am dying for a crispy chicken salad with cranberries. 

Cutlers Cookies- Turkey on white no tomato with a sugar cookie. 

Parsons bakery.  Pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.  One dozen ASAP!

Training Table- Hot ham and cheese with an order of cheese fries. 

When I was a nanny in Atlanta for a year after high school.  I became obsessed with Waffle House.  It doesn’t matter where I am in the South, or what I am doing, I eat every meal at Waffle House.  I have a waffle for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Why do you think I sent my kids to school in the South?  It wasn’t just for the education….

Tell me I’m not the only crazy person with an appetite for things I can’t have.  What do you miss? 

And if any of my Utah readers are feeling generous, can you Fed-Ex me some cookies?  Mom? 

Can you hear me? 

And for the record, if I left California today, I would be missing In-n-Out Burger by Friday. 

I know many of you are wondering and asking what is going on with the reality show.  We are wondering and asking the same thing.  This is what we know.  Our producer pitched us to two networks.  We are waiting for the executives to pay us a visit.  We have been waiting for this for a while now.  I am at the point now that if it doesn’t happen I may be grateful, and it doesn’t seem to be happening. Our contract with our producer is going to expire before any execs visit.   In the beginning when things were moving quickly, and producers were calling us left and right,  it seemed like we were always doing something to prepare, or ready ourselves for television.  Now, none of us are in that mindset. We are making plans without considering a filming schedule and I am not busting my ass to plan and prepare like we were months ago.  And with my luck, fifteen minutes after hitting the publish button, someone will call.  

The kids are all doing amazing.  We cruised through the flu season without much more than a cold and two ear infections.  Living in this Petri-dish of viruses and germs, my kids are pretty darn resilient to most bugs.  We do get a good strep throat once a year and it has put us on a first name basis with every pharmacist at Walgreen’s.  Most pharmacists don’t fill fifteen bottles of amoxicillin for one family.  We got noticed.

Kate, Jasmine, Jace, and Colby have been taking hip-hop on Monday’s.  There is nothing cuter than little kids dancing like they do “in da club.”  Kate and Jace are natural born movers.  They get jiggy every time they hear music.  Jasmine and Colby are loosening up a little since they have started.  They needed these lessons. 

Shaylee and Eric (BF) have been awesome.  Okay, Brandon caught them in bed once, but they were “just snuggling.”  I threatened to phone Eric’s mother if I caught them again… we haven’t seen anything since.  Together, they are an unbridled ball of happiness and energy.  Young love…isn’t it glorious?  They are at Disneyland today.  We drove them up and dropped them off and they ran into the sunshine like a couple of puppies, jumping all over each other, as they bounded up the sidewalk. 

Hunter is begging for a kitten.  Do any of you have connections to Siberian kittens?  I am trying to get him one.

Bronson still hasn’t let me know where he is going to go to college.  He visited Tulane and liked it, but wouldn’t elaborate further.  I am on pins and needles to hear where my boy will be for the next four years.  ELON University in NC, or Tulane in New Orleans.

Brandon’s boys were supposed to come this past weekend but they got sick and canceled their trip.  While I had a pleasant weekend with Brandon, it still means the boys have yet to visit this quarter and we need to do it.  Having four more kids in the house on top of Shaylee and Eric proved impossible, so Brandon was going to take them and have some quality time elsewhere in a hotel.  That was going to be great because Shaylee was here to help me.  The next time they come that won’t be the case.  So I either have to do it myself for the weekend, or tolerate four more kids in the house.  It’s a tough call.  The whole thing is tough.  Nothing divides the house faster than having Brandon’s kids visit.  Our kids become my kids and his boys are his.  There is no other way to say it.  It’s a house divided.  Someday, I will go into more detail about the drama.  But it’s hard to do when I have to protect the innocent and maintain my marriage. 

We found a fabulous behavior specialist for Pickle.  He has been here two times.  That was enough for us to know he is not what we needed.  Pickle is too smart for specialists.  She was an angel while he was in the house.  He walked out the door and she turned on her true colors.  We are looking at hiring someone just for Pickle to play with after school.  Hopefully someone with some experience with special ed and willing to be firm but play with her.  She just needs some structure that we can’t offer her in the afternoon. 

If I could find someone to take her to the park, and for walks, and ice cream, and play one on one with her for four hours, she will be happy, I will be happy, and in turn the entire family will be happy.  Any of you local readers know anyone qualified and interested?

I spring-cleaned all weekend.  We moved the computer room into the formal dining room.   Now I get to go furniture shopping for sofas for the front room.   I think the real reason Brandon allowed me to do this move, and muscled all the desks in here, is because he now has a place to put a baby grand piano.  This formal dining room has been empty since we moved in a year ago.  You know we never sit down to eat don’t you?  The kids sit at the bar and Brandon and I stand.  I usually hover over somebody and eat right off their plate.  Why dirty another dish when I know Jazzi won’t eat everything?  Anyway, this dining room was quickly becoming a handball court for the kids and I didn’t like it.  It’s hard to say “NO BALLS IN THE HOUSE”  when it’s cold outside.  I think I killed two birds with one stone.  I will post pictures of our “new room” in the Saturday week in pictures post.

I think you have been sufficiently updated.  If there is something I neglected to tell you, or update you on, please let me know.  I am happy to keep you in the loop of our comings and goings. 

And one last thing…. Thank you all so much for all the comments.  I love hearing from you.  I am sorry I am not so good at replying back to all of you.  I would hate to be accused of spending all my time blogging and none of it parenting.  Which reminds me, I am late to pick up the hip-hop kids.  gotta go….