I've been feeling frustated at my inability to get things done around the house. It's hard to complete a task with a one year old baby girl who loves to spend time with her mama. I find myself spending all of my time with my daughter, playing with her, reading to her, singing with her, taking her outside, going for walks, dancing with her, fixing her hair, teaching her colors, cuddling her, teaching her ABC's, teaching her body parts, (which, by the way, it's no longer "vagina" but "pachina" because, well, PACHINA IS SO CUTE. Double standard because I was all "No cute names for Penis!" But pachina is like the cutest name for a twat EVER and so, pachina it is.)

The only time I feel like I have to clean and get things done is while she's napping. But, I use that time to catch up on my email (which, by the way, I'm VERY BEHIND ON, so forgiveth me if I've not yet responded, ok? ok!), pay my bills, catch up on my reality TV, make phone calls, write, and after I'm done with that, THEN, if she's still sleeping, I'll do laundry, or clean the piss off of the toilet seat.

I feel frustrated. I want the house to be clean and in order, I want to be caught up on the laundry, I want this place (notice, I didn't call it "my home" because IT'S NOT MINE) to be a comfortable, functional environment where we can all feel at peace. Instead, it's an unorganized, chaotic MESS.

But damn, if it doesn't smell WONDERFUL. Because? I am obsessed with Products That Make Your House Smell Good. Glade plug in fans, Oust fans, Wisps , Glade candles, LORD, my cup overfloweth with Air Freshing Products. I have one or two in EVERY ROOM and an entire cabinet filled with new ones, ready to be plugged in or lit up.

I decided that I needed to find someone, whom I trust deeply, to watch G-Unit for half a day, one day a week. Because, IT'S ALL HER FAULT. The Charm. It be interferring with my ability to Get Shit Done. At least, that's what I've decided to tell people, because it feels great to blame A BABY, rather than take responsibility for the fact that I SUCK AT HOUSEKEEPING.

I was so excited about having a little time to myself to get things done around the house... Until the time came to actually take her. I couldn't do it.

The thought of being in the house without my daughter killed me and I wimped out. "I don't NEED time away from her, what I need is to learn how to manage my time in a more efficient way! THE GIRL STAYS!"

I've only left Gabby with my mom 3 times since she's been born. I've left her with my sister once. And I've left her with Tony a couple times when I've gone out to do Fun Things With Friends. I've missed her like CRAZY those few times I've left her and couldn't wait to come back home to see her, kiss her and squeeze her uncontrollably. HOWEVER, that's so much different then her not being here in the house with me. The thought of that makes me want to cry. It would freak me out if she were gone while I was here.

She's my lil' buddy. My little partner in crime (a.k.a my partner in farts). She's my sunshine, my precious, my Special Sauce, my Gabby Goo, my G-unit, my lil brat, my everything.

Maybe the fact that I can't bring myself to drop here off for a few hours is because I know she's the very last baby I'll ever have, and I know how how quickly she'll grow up.

Or maybe it's that I've become completely attached to that girl. And the thought of being in this house kills me.

Of course, there's always the very small possibility that a very small, tiny weeny part of me does not want to get rid of "The Greatest Excuse EVER" as to why I did not clean the house. Again.

But most likely? It's because that little girl owns me.

A re-enactment of the game of Uno me and the boys just finished playing.

"I'm first."

"Ok" *pffffffft*

"Your turn."

"OK!" *brrrrrrftpffft*

"Who's next?"

*pffft thhrrrrrrumm pffffft*

"Good one, mom."

*frrrrrrtatafffftht*

"dang! I don't have any more reds. I have to draw!" *pffft putt putt brrrrrth putt putt*

"Whoa. Can we stop the game. I have to take a dump or else I'm gonna poo myself."

Farting Uno. It was beautiful.

Honestly? I have no idea why I have to mention the fact that my daughter "knows how to rip'em" everytime I post one of her pictures.

The fact that all I ever brag about is her farting ability is sad because the girl is SMART. Like today? I asked her "Where's mommy's nose?" and she GRABBED MY NOSE. [doug heffernon voice]GENIUS[/doug heffernon voice] But instead of writing about those kinds of things, I'm all "Dayum that girl can fart!"

I CAN'T HELP IT! HER FARTS IMPRESS ME! AND I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW ABOUT THEM!

Speaking of farts...

I bought Gabby a santa hat for her Christmas pictures and can I just tell show you how much she LOVES IT? Why, of course I can! It's MY blog!

I believe I can fly, I believe I can touch the sky..."

My daughter thinks I'm funny and this makes me happy because there aren't too many people think I'm funny.

Sure, people love to laugh AT me, but that's not the same thing as thinking I'm funny. I mean, who wouldn't laugh at a grown woman who didn't know a pickle was a CUCUMBER?

My boys used to think I was funny. Now they think I'm just "annoying."

Tony thinks I'm funny sometimes. Especially when we're watching TV because of my commentary. But then I'll go and rip a killer and suddenly, "I'm not funny" anymore. Excuuuuuse me for being human.

Lately, I've noticed when I write things that I THINK are funny, I always end up clarifying that in the comments "I was trying to BE FUNNY". That leads me to believe... I might not be funny.

Funny is important. I love funny people. That's why I love Melly so much. She knows how to bring on the funny. Trust me, even our "first fight" was funny because SHE is so funny. (ok and because it happened in a cheap motel which had a plastic donkey and a Jesus in the lobby) People who make me laugh are always my favorite people. So, excuse me for wishing I WAS FUNNY.

But, hey, Gabby think I'm funny and even if she is the only person in the world who thinks I'm funny, I'd be ok with that and I'm not just saying that because she farts when she laughs, which in turn makes me laugh so hard, I make peepee. I'm saying it because she has the most beautiful smile AND the greatest laugh I've ever heard.

I'm sick.

Sick of mean people.

But you know what I'm not sick of?

My daughters farts.

Sure, they stink REALLY BAD, but do you have any idea how much fun it is to watch this sweet, beautiful little girl rip 'em like she just don't care?

It's even funnier when we rip 'em together. In unison.

I love that I have a little partner in crime in the gas department.

What I do NOT love is when she rips them in public, stinking up the general area where I am standing with her stroller and people think it was ME. I've thought about pointing at her and saying "DON'T BLAME ME, IT WAS HER!" But seriously? How horrible would I look trying to pin the stank on my almost 3 month old infant daughter? So I just smile and let the public believe I have no manners and had some bad mexican the night before.

That's what a good mother does.

A few minutes after Gabriella was born, the nurse handed her to me. I kissed her and decided to try to feed her. I unbuttoned my hospital gown and brought her to my breast. She latched on immediately. I'll never forget that moment. There in my arms was my daughter and she looked right at me while she began to eat for the first time in her life from my breast, the milk that would sustain her for the first few months of her life. I couldn't believe how easily she took to the breast. Both of my boys had trouble in the beginning, learning how to latch on and it was very frustrating. But not with my daughter, she figured it out right away and feeding her has never been frustrating.

Infact, words can not describe what an amazing and fufilling experience it is everytime I sit down to nurse her.

I love how her beautiful little eyes will focus on me while she's eating and drifting off to sleep. I love the sounds she makes, the coos, the grunts, the gulping, hell, I even love the way she farts while she's sucking away. It's the funniest thing in the world.

The love, the sense of importance, the bond I feel when I'm nursing my daughter is one of the most precious gifts in my life.

And let's be honest here, the fact that I can get out of the shower, run out of the bathroom and start squirting Tony with MILK is pretty damn cool too.

My kids are FUNNY.

Funny, but brats.

But they're more funny than they are brats.

I asked them to help me spread some holiday cheer, and they were more than willing to help out.

Enjoy, I know I sure did.

Oh, you better watch out.

We wish you a Merry...

Jingle "bells"

and finally, a little hip hop Chriznismas.

Ethan busts a rhyme.