Punk'd

I've rented Punk'd from Netflix, and I gotta tell you...some of that stuff, I can rival. lol

Not as in I could Punk some one better but boy have I lived through some stuff where I've been wondering if I am being Punk'd. Ashton says these people should know, but I'd chalk it up to life if some of that back to back stuff happened to me.

Today was an ok day. It started off with Poufy breaking her glasses, her 8-day old replacement glasses, clean in half. The lense won't even stay in. The insurance isn't going to replace them again, especially 8 days after they just gave them to her and I don't feel I should be obligated to buy her another pair. It's ridiculous. So, I duct taped them. Let her feel it because it's not ok. RAD or not. I told her she needed to practice looking past the duct tape. You know what she did? She happily proclaimed she could see right past it already. I said good because when school starts she needs to be prepared and that's when the light bulb came on and she realized what she had done--to herself.

She also peed herself bright and early. So, we decided since she is acting two and the therapist says that her progression will start from the day we got them (2 years ago) we are treating her like she is 2. I've gotta tell you. Watching her open mouthed gaping at being treated like she is two is entertaining and sad.

Sad because it's all new to her...being two and being treated like it. Entertaining because you know, a two year old can't do nearly as much as a 7 year old. Nope. Bike riding, not really. Eating by oneself, nope. Playing outside with the big kids, uh uh. Or desserts, because in my book, peanut butter chocolate kiss cookies ARE NOT for two year olds, not like say---apple sauce or something.

We might even resort to a crib, we've got a brand new one, ready to build back from our make believe days of planning for OUR own kids. I guess that will never happen now. At least I can't see how. Yet another way, Jo was able to ruin our lives with her loserness.

It's really a double-edged sword, isn't it? I mean they could treat us worse if we were total strangers but they still treat us badly because we are relatives. Plus, we don't get the true luxury of being Mom or Dad. Because, face it, it's strange.

Anywho, just a rant thrown in there because I am dealing with the oldest as I write this and well her straight out bitchiness. Is there a more appropriate word for a tween?

I try to let it roll off my back and not take it personal, but being a punching bag really isn't my thing.

The other thing that is bothering me is that I had this strange dream. In my dream, I found a baby, a newborn preemie looking baby in a trash can in a public restroom stall. There was something wrong with it's leg, it was bruised and hurt.

I took the baby and I made it strong and she looked healthy but I was always afraid someone was going to come take her because she wasn't mine.

That's my life. In a nutshell. I worry, if I don't buy Poufy new glasses will they take her away? My kids wear grubbies in the summer, they are wearing pants with holes in them because they are outside learning how to ride bikes. I take them places like that because well, who wants a stack of laundry? They aren't dirty. But will anyone ask me?

I already felt like that before the therapist pulled all the crap about Poufy's weight. Does anyone else feel like people are watching and waiting for you to make a mistake?