Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped...

So I was being a boss, listening to Kid Cudi uncensored because I was rollin like a G in my van with no baby ears in the back seat.

And I heard a lyric that struck me it goes: "I tried to think of myself as a sacrifice, to just to show the kids they ain't the only ones up at night" (in the next lyric he talks about his pee pee being sucked so be warned if you google that, don't want to be held responsible for wrecking your baby ears, and by pee pee I mean cock)

And then a ninja BOMB exploded in my brain and I thought OMG I MUST WRITE ABOUT THIS. (No not the pee pee sucking part, you sicko)

Here is how it starts: I was told a few times that I am an inspiration. I know, I know. My life of servitude to 5 children and still finding the time to read a book, write on this here blog, and paint my nails gives me like, a Jane Goodall runner up sash or some shit.

But seriously.

I am just like you.

And if you think I am not, or just think I am full of myself, let me tell you a story of how I became Humble.

Two years ago. My life was SHIIIIIIIIIIIT.

I won't go into exact details, to protect my kids and my sanity should someone be blabbing about it the next time I see them in real life, but lets just say the situation I was in was fucked UP.

And even worse, I couldn't seem to get out of it. It was like the same day every day, going through the same motions, but with more bad situations piling up until I couldn't breathe any more. Literally, I couldn't breathe. I had been suffering from what I thought was "I am dying, my throat is closing and I am dying" but really turned out to be major anxiety attacks. The kind that you know, can't fucking breathe through when they are happening.

Picture that for a second.

Now imagine that I had 4 kids with me when these would happen out of no where.

It was the ultimate rock bottom place that I was in, the kind of rock bottom that comes from the inside of your heart and soul and makes its way to your flesh and bones. It affected my every move. My every conversation. My brain. The way my eyes perceived things.

And I wanted it to stop.

I ended up in a hospital in a daze. I still can't recall the exact events before the hospital. I remember crying on a gurney, explaining that I was not suicidal and that I still couldn't breathe. Later, I was taken to rehab. Apparently, you can go even if you are not addicted to anything, you can go if you are just freaking the fuck out. Good to know.

When I came home after living with my parents for a bit in order to help me get back on track with meds and therapies, I came across something that years of watching Oprah never taught me. Or maybe she did except I wasn't paying attention because I was busy folding clothes.

I loved it so much I wrote it on my wall:

And just like that. My life changed.

NOT!

It took me time to realize that I couldn't change everything over night, but I could accept that. What I could no longer accept was that I wasn't taking steps to make it at least gravitate towards the direction of change.

Where did I want to go in life?

Who did I want to be?

What were like, my goals?

Now what the fuck do I have to do to get there?

Okay, can't do all of that in a week, what can I do today?

Nothing?

How bout a smile?

Okay, I can do that.

And that's how it began. I realized I didn't have a lot to work with. But I did have myself, and frankly, that's enough to start with.

It all started with a smile. MY SMILE. Not a smile someone else gave me, not a smile I fake, a real one. Try it, you'll like it.

Take THAT duck face!

And in my method of full disclosure of fantastical honesty, one of the things I most wanted to achieve was to help someone ANYONE find their smile. You know, find their little sumtin sumtin, to feel happy about. JUST ONE PERSON. That was my goal.

And then, I met you. YOU.

xoxox Humble

My Dark Side

People often ask me "How do you manage 5 kids?" or they say things like "I have 2 and I am going apeshit...I don't know how you do it." You know what I say in response? "Yea, this whole having kids thing just was so easy I decided to be a Duggar, but without the religion or disgusting casseroles." That's right. I fucking lie. This may come as a shock to you, since I am so honest on my blog and my facebook page. But what I say on line and what I say to your face in person are two different things. Why? Because I don't want to scare well meaning people who are just trying to make conversation, or are nosy as fuck and don't really care (I bet these nosy fucks are addicted to reality tv as well...I am not a reality show..stop asking me if all the kids have the same dad, when am I getting my tubes tied, and how much money I make, like this is some episode of MTV's true life: I hoard children.)

The truth is. I struggle. Hardcore. My house is a wreck right now for example. I have been telling myself for months that it was okay and everyone who enters the domain is going to forgive me because I just had a baby. It hit me yesterday though. I didn't just have a baby. The baby is nearly 9 months old. Soon, he will be crawling. This terrifies me. His little hands and knees and mouth are going to come in contact with the floors, the walls, the toys, the microscopic cracker crumbs in the corner, the dead flies on the window sill, etc. I told myself when I was pregnant with him, that I could organize and clean everything when that nesting instinct kicked in around 7 months, just like I did when I was knocked up the previous times.

Except I never made it to 7 months pregnant.

Fuck.

The other thing I realized is that my house is so bad right now, if Nate Berkus showed up, he would have to get the folks on Hoarders to come bring their dump trucks first. I honestly don't get it. I have no attachments to items. I throw shit away all the time. I am constantly doing laundry. Constantly cleaning up someone, or someones mess. And still. This place is a hovel.

Also the other interesting twist to my dilemma, is that I have OCD.

Now I know that everyone feels like they have OCD at times, and when I tell people this they usually come up with some OCD-like symptom to make an example of how they too have OCD. Your color coded book collection, your obsession with vacuuming in a specific pattern, your awesomely famous way of making your bed, are all something to behold. But you are probably fine.

Here are my examples of OCD (not to say I am proposing that I am the only one that suffers this bat shit crazy way of life, my OCD folks out there will want to high five me for telling it like it is, because half of this shit is not talked about because it is so absurd)

~I can tell you exactly how that stain got there, because I cringe ever since it happened. Every stain on the carpet. Except the one under Sprite's desk. I smelled it. I think it is milk. But she hates milk, so I can't be sure.

~I always ALWAYS buy the second item behind the first item displayed. The first one has been touched, and therefore, is disgusting and not as fresh.

~If I see a cluttery mess, I have no problem throwing it all away. Unless it is truly valuable and unreplaceable.

~I feel guilty about going to bed. I berate myself about dirty dishes as I drift off to sleep.

~I have a physical twitch if I touch something greasy. My eyes water. I wash my hands repeatedly every time I touch something oily. Also static makes my eyes water. If I see a balloon, my fucking eyes water. Just thinking about the crackle sound in the clothes that come out of the dryer, makes me tear up.

~If I can't do something that I really feel needs to be done. My whole world crashes. This happens every day.

~I can't decide anything. Therefore, I hate shopping. I have to have a pre set list, or I will stand in the shampoo aisle for 30 minutes. I will walk circles in the clothes department if I am just browsing and do not have an actual need. I have to know EXACTLY what I am there for so I can narrow it down.

~I can't park my van unless it feels right. I will circle a parking lot 20 times looking for the spot "that feels right" and I am a checker. I repeatedly lock and unlock my doors, repeatedly look in my purse to make sure I have my keys before I leave the car un locked. I keep it un locked in case I lose my keys. This makes zero sense. But "it feels right."

~If my handwriting changes half way through writing out my uber specific to do list. I start over.

~My house and my environment hold my self worth. I will tell myself that I am a fat lazy heffer as I walk by a cluttery mess. I have been in years of therapy so I just repeat to myself that my house can burn down in flames and we could get a new one. But if I went down in flames, people would be traumatized for life.

I am worth more than my house.

~I can't eat left overs. It is not new. It is not fresh. It feels touched.

This is just a small snap shot of the things that I often deal with. The rest of it, I have learned to manage. But right now, this whole OCD and house situation is driving me banana sandwich. It is holding me back from going places, literally and metaphorically, and frankly, I am sick of it.

So, instead of climbing in my bed and saying "fuck this shit in the neck," I am going to do what I have done countless times to set my shit straight. I am going to keep telling myself, that despite my un organized everything, I am a fantastic mother. Despite that cake batter that is on the ceiling, I am not worthless. And despite having desperately low self esteem, The Biff thinks I am fucking wonderful.

If I keep doing this mix of pumping myself up and actually taking steps to achieve balance, maybe when Nate shows up, I will actually let him come inside.

For the people who have actually been to my house. I apologize. Instead of getting ready for your visit, I was doing this:

Welcome to the jungle bitches.

I seriously hope I'm allowed to write the word bitches on here. Or else I'm totally screwed. This is me.

My hair is so kick ass right here its not even funny.

For friends that are reading this I have a pseudonym on here. I mean why the eff not? I grew up wanting my name to be things like Sprinkles, or Cupcake Thundercat. Now that I'm older I have a whole list of names in case I get famous and/or if I join a roller derby league.Ive decided to do a blog for a few reasons, for one I post wayyyy too much on facebook, and frankly I'm pretty sure some people have hid or deleted me because of my ramblings, cursing, weirdness (I call em quirks...makes me sound interesting like Zooey Deschanel) and incessant use of misspellings and poor grammar, (don't worry this thing has abc check...holla!!) So this blog is for the people who care to read more than a post or a shout out, and mostly for the people who have sent me wonderful letters about how they look forward to my posts and how my words made them laugh even though they were having a majorly shitty day. It really warms my heart and gives me a new avenue of purpose to find the moment where "this shit is so insane its funny" and share it with others to make them smile. Or make them say "fuck this girl is annoying. DELETE" Because if there is one thing mainstream hip hop taught me its "If you aint bein hated on you aint doin shit" and also the importance of NOT being in the club if Usher should walk through the doors......