When I Get My Hands On This Kid…

I busted my hump cleaning and organizing my refrigerator and I walk into the kitchen an hour later and there is juice spilled on one shelf.  The lunch meat is moved from the drawer to a shelf and has been left open and someone took the last slice of cheese but left the wrapper and package in the drawer.  I turn to the nearest kid and ask “who did this?”.

I walk out of the living room for a minute and a half to put away the vaccuum, while all three children are quietly watching television.  When I return, there is popcorn strewn from one end of the room to the other.  “Who made this mess?”, I ask.

I hear a crash and a breaking sound and I sprint into the other room and discover my crystal vase in pieces on the floor.  “Were you kids playing basketball in the house?”, I inquire.

It is always the same answer.  The same person.  Some little shit, a friend of theirs from school, I assume, and his name is “Whuzentmee”.  I feel so guilty for always jumping to the conclusion that the responsible party is one of my children.  As it turns out, my children are perfectly behaved angels and are not responsible for any of this. Strangely enough, I have never met this child personally but he is here all. the. fucking. time.  Obviously, this child’s behavioral issues stem, in large part, from total neglect by his own parents, since this kid has been here at all hours without my knowledge and his parents never have called looking for him.

This kid is wreaking havoc on my home. Whuzentmee has broken dishes and crystal, has flushed toys down the toilet, has spilled entire pitchers of juice and thrown salt around the kitchen.  He has been on the computer when no one had permission to be on the computer and has interrupted DVR recordings, which my children know is a death wish.  This kid is out of control.  He also conveniently disappears right after he creates chaos.  I’ve checked the school directory, since I have been wanting to call this kid’s parents and let them know what a hellion they have on their hands and ask that they keep him  home but, evidently, he is unlisted.

I was recently surprised to learn that this little hell raiser gets around.  He has been to almost every. single. one of my friends’ homes and has been wreaking havoc and leaving their kids to take the blame for it, as well.

If anyone has any idea how to contact his parents, let me know.  Better yet, if you have an address, I think it is high time that someone call and report these parents for such blatant neglect.  They need to take care of their kid.  I know that if this kid would stop visiting, my home would be quiet and immaculate.

So, You’re Building Your Baby Registry

Isn’t it fun?  They give you that little gun and you walk down aisles and aisles of crap, scanning every other item.  If this is your first, you think everything is a necessity and your registry will probably end up being 12 pages long.  Of the 487 items you have bogged down your registry with, you need about 7 of them but, rest assured, you will have soap, pacifiers, wash cloths and nipples coming out of your ass by the time the baby shower is over.

If you are expecting, I am going to tell  you what you are going to actually need and use as a mother.  Tell your friends that if they stray from the registry there will be hell to pay and the cake better be good.

Look, if you are having a baby, hopefully, you can afford to buy a few bottles of baby soap and some wash cloths.  If your friends and family are willing to shell out the cash to make life with baby a little easier, let’s tell them to put it towards some actual necessities.

  • Tile in the nursery-I am not talking about a tile floor, I am talking about tiling the entire room.  Top to bottom.  Make sure and include a drain in the floor.  You see, babies shit.  A lot.  As they get older, they find new and inventive ways to let you know that they took a shit.  Number three, for instance, likes to let me know by removing his diaper and smearing it across walls.  Fucking adorable.  If his nursery was all tile, I would just have to stand him in the middle and hose him and the walls and floors down all at the same time.  You could upgrade this further with a built-in sprinkler system.
  • Large kennel-Who doesn’t need a little “me” time?  Throw some toys or cheerios into the kennel and go read a book.
  • Electric wine opener-Look, drinking has never been as important as it is once you have children.  Most of the sunrises that my children have lived to see is due, in large part, to the existence of the nectar of the Gods.  When you are in the midst of a crisis or meltdown and you need wine STAT, you do not want to have to fiddle with a manual opener.  Hell, you can’t waste that kind of time! 
  • Noise canceling headphones- Whether it is the a wailing baby or the incessant “mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom” from your older children, these will ensure that you get the quiet time you so desperately need.
  • Vasectomy gift certificate-To make sure that this doesn’t happen again.
  • Air freshener-Again, kids shit.  A lot.  Trust me, you are going to need to stock up.
  • A wig-Face it.  You will be lucky if you find time to shower.  Don’t be overly ambitious and unrealistic and think you are going to have time to wash AND fix your hair.
  • Steam Cleaner-Kids are capable of messes that your mind cannot imagine.  Just this morning, number three got a hold of pancake syrup and poured it all over the living room.  He is so fucking precious.
  • Childcare- Because you are going to need a break.  It doesn’t have to cost a ton of money!

Sure, sure, you need blankets and socks but you don’t need 50 of them and you don’t need 20 identical onesies.  Don’t waste your time on bunk items like a wipies warmer or a vibrating crib.  Get the items necessary for surviving parenthood.  You’re welcome.

Other Things My Family is Physically Unable to do

Every. Single. Day. I am faced with the cold, hard fact that my family is practically helpless to complete the simplest and most mundane tasks.  I am confused because, based on my own unprofessional opinion and observation, they all seem to possess average or above average IQs and all are completely capable on a physical ability level.  For some reason, though, their ability to perform the most basic daily tasks is completely impaired.  It goes well beyond changing the empty toilet paper roll.

  1. Flush the fucking toilet-Seriously.  This one has got to be the one that bothers me the most.  That little handle on the backside of the toilet is not just a pretty silver decoration, it actually fulfills a very important function.  Once you finish “your business”, push that handle down and it all goes away down the magic hole.  Then, I don’t have to dry heave when I walk into the bathroom and see and smell a bowl full of shit.  “I forgot”, by the way, is an unacceptable response when I ask why the fucking toilet isn’t flushed.  Don’t fucking forget! 
  2. When you take the last pop tart or the last bag of popcorn or the last waffle or the last Coke, remove the fucking box from the pantry/refrigerator/freezer and put it in the muthafucking trash.  This is not rocket fucking science.  Simply, remove the last item from the box and then remove the package from wherever it is we keep it stored, walk the 5-7 steps to the trash can and place inside the big hole at the top of the trash can.
  3. When you remove a trash bag from the trash can, fucking replace it with a new one!  If there isn’t a trash bag in the trash can then DON’T PUT ANY FUCKING TRASH IN THERE.  Why is this such a hard concept to wrap one’s mind around?  The trash bags are stored on the lower shelf of the pantry.  Simply, remove one from the box, shake out to expand and then place inside the trash can.
  4. Unless you have hired and scheduled a maid to come here, clean up your own fucking trash.  The floor, by the way, is not a trash can.  The dishes are not going to walk themselves into the dishwasher.
  5. If you pull a load of laundry from the dryer, do NOT pull out one shirt and leave the rest in the laundry room mixed in with dirty clothes!  Get it out of the laundry room and, I know this is going to sound crazy but here goes–fold it and put it away!  For the record, the tops of the dressers, on the beds, on the couch on the floor does not constitute “put away”.
  6. If you go to make a sandwich and, upon removing the bread, realize it is a) stale or b) moldy, throw it the fuck away!  Do not return it to the pantry.  Really?  The trash can and pantry are equidistant from the counter area you were preparing to make said sandwich. 
  7. When you open a bag of lunch meat, a loaf of bread, the bag of shredded cheese, etc CLOSE IT!

We all know that when mama ain’t happy, nobody is happy, so learning how the above will make mama a lot happier.  We will hold weekly workshops on these tasks.  If anyone else is interested in enrolling their own family members into these workshops, we can work something out.

Important Instructions for My Family In Case I Die

I need to make sure that I leave this important information for my family, in the event of my sudden death.  The very idea that something could happen to me before any of them were given these instructions keeps me awake at night with worry.

I can only hope that they will remember these instructions, in the event that I am not around to perform this difficult task.  I can only imagine the total chaos and disarray that would result if this information was not passed on, forgotten or disregarded.

Step one:  Observe.

I know, I know but don’t be frightened.  I am going to walk you through this.  Now, calm down.  This can be fixed.  I know you have always believed that resolving this issue requires some pretty heavy maneuvering.  Given that not one of you has ever even attempted to resolve this problem, I assume that you think it entails phone calls, paperwork, awaiting approval letters, etc  or that a toilet paper fairy visits and replaces the empty roll but, rest assured, such is not the case.   I have been told by others that it is because no one else gives a fuck but I just KNOW that my family does give a fuck and would never be so lazy and would want to do whatever is necessary to help with these trivial tasks to keep me from having to do everything!

Step two:  Remove empty cardboard roll from toilet paper holder. This is truly simple.  Just gently squeeze both sides of the middle dispenser bar and be shocked and amazed at the realization that you possess super strength that makes the metallic tube that you once considered indestructible shrink.

Step three:  Lift the holder containing the empty roll from the mounted base.  Be careful not to drop either of these.  If you do drop one or both of these items, please refer to the set of instructions titled (How To Pick Up Shit That is on the Floor) that, hopefully, I had the chance to write out in detail prior to my demise.

Step four:  Carefully remove empty cardboard roll from dispenser bar.  Again, hold on tight.  If either item is dropped, refer to instructions mentioned in Step three.

Step five:  Get new roll of toilet paper.  Hopefully, someone has kept inventory of the stock of toilet paper and replaced if necessary and you can find a replacement in the linen closet.  Perhaps someone has moved it to the bathroom cabinets.  Most likely, though, you will have to go buy some or steal some from a fast food joint.

Step six:  Slide new roll onto dispenser bar.

Step seven:  Return new roll and dispenser bar to wall mount. To do this, again squeeze the sides of the middle tube to magically shrink it, allowing it to be fit into the wall mount.  As you get better, you can focus on proper installation direction:

Practice, practice, practice.  You can do it!  Refer to these directions anytime that you observe an empty toilet paper roll.

Now, I must begin working on the manual I mentioned in step two, as well as “How to Replace a Trash Bag” and “How to Throw Away Empty Food Containers”.

I Have A Dream

I have been asked countless times, especially since being pregnant, “are you guys going to have more kids?”.  Fuck no!  That is my canned response.  Their automatic assumption leads to their next question of “Oh!  So, are you going to get your tubes tied when you have this one?”.  Fuck no.  That is my canned response.

First of all, why is the default assumption that women will or should be the ones responsible for birth control, permanent or otherwise?  I have yet to encounter one person that jumps to the conclusion that my husband will be the one going under the birth control knife.  Truth be told, even my husband, during my last pregnancy, assumed it would be me.  “If they are doing a c-section, they can just do all that then, right?”, he asked.  After I killed him a million and one ways in my mind and shot daggers at him with my eyes, I sweetly informed him that he was sorely mistaken.  I lovingly explained to him that we had three children and his junk had nothing but fun on the road to bringing them into this world.  My junk and the rest of my body, on the other hand, had been through hell and back during that journey.  Now, with the fourth one on the way, I think it is about time that his junk took one for the team.

As I have sought out someone to perform this procedure on my husband, I have discovered that dick doctors are a lot less supportive of family involvement than vagina doctors.  My husband has been allowed, even encouraged, to be in the same room with me during every step of our family planning.  When I have been laid out, spread eagle, in a hospital bed, being violated seven ways to Sunday, he was there.  When I pushed for over two hours to squeeze out a screaming human larvae, the nurse kept directing his attention to the upskirt view so he could have a front row seat to all the action.  When I was strapped down to a table having a child surgically removed from my body, he was there and was encouraged to peek over the curtain to watch it all.  In each instance, he was also invited over and handed a pair of surgical scissors and permitted to cut through the umbilical cord, taking an active role.  So, pray tell me, why are these dick doctors  being so fucking weird about me wanting to take a similarly active role in this part of our family planning journey?  Here is my vision, as I explain it to them when I call:

I want to be in the room with my husband when they do the procedure, from the first shot of dick numbing medicine to the last stitch.  I want to tell him “breathe!  breathe!  Can you feel that?  Does it hurt?  Oh my god!  YIKES!!  This has to hurt!  BREATHE!!!”.  I want to take pictures.  I want the dick doctor to hand me the scissors and let me cut the “cord”.  After the procedure is complete, I would like for someone to take a picture of me posing with his newborn dick.  I am thinking I want it wrapped in a blanket and me cradling it in my hands.  I want to have a hospital gown and I want the doctors, after the procedure, to rub ink on his newborn dick and press ball prints and maybe a mushroom print on my hospital gown.  I just want it to be special, dammit!!  Why is every fucking dick doctor so uptight?  Just because men refer to them as their “jewels” does not make it true.  They are dicks.  If my husband is allowed to shimmy up a front row seat in the birthing room, inches away from the baby cannon and then handed a pair of fucking scissors to start cutting shit, why don’t I get the same treatment from the dick doctor.  It is bullshit.

I am still looking for a doctor.

You Don’t Even Know What You’re Saying

People misuse words and phrases all. the. fucking. time.  Depending on different variables, it can be irritating but, regardless, it is always amusing.

Pay attention class, there will be a pop quiz:

  1. “I love my husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend unconditionally.”-Do you even understand the definition of UNCONDITIONAL?  Here is the bottom line:  If you have a single brain cell, an ounce of dignity or a smidge of self-worth, you do not love that person unconditionally.  Let me tell you something, I love my husband completely but you can bet your sweet ass that there are conditions on that love.  I can’t guarantee I would or could still love him if he cheated on me, beat me or hurt one of our children.  Do the people who make this claim understand, at all, what they are saying?  Would they really be willing, much less able, to love that person if they were found to be a murderer, rapist or pedophile?  I know I couldn’t.  I would say the closest you will ever come to knowing unconditional love is the love for your children.
  2. “For all intensive purposes”- The correct phrase is “For all INTENTS AND PURPOSES.” and means, basically, “for all reasonable/practical purposes”.  What the fuck is an intensive purpose?
  3. “He/She did a complete 360.”-So, what you are saying is that they have come full circle and are back to where they started from.  If you are trying to say that someone made a complete change, you would say they did a “180″, indicating that they did a total turnaround.
  4. Nauseous v. Nauseated-If something or someone is “nauseous”, they induce or cause nausea.  If one is nauseated, they feel sick.  Rotten fish is nauseous.  Body odor is nauseous.  Both these things have the potential to make one nauseated.  If you say you are nauseous, you are saying that you cause others to feel nauseated.
  5.  Irregardless- This one is another one that gets under my skin and you will probably see me bitch about it countless times.  Regardless means “without regard”.  Adding the prefix -ir to the word only makes it redundant, meaning “without without regard”.
  6. “My kids are LITERALLY climbing the walls.”-Well, then get a fucking video camera because you are going to be rich.  Literally means “without exaggeration”.  When you say shit like “My head literally exploded.”, I literally want to punch you in the fucking face.  Learn the difference between literally and figuratively.  Thanks.

Don’t fucking tell me “Oh, those are in the dictionary”, either.  Dictionaries no longer prescriptive, as they originated.  They are now all descriptive, meaning they describe language.  The fact that society now has an overwhelming majority of vapid fuckwits wandering freely doesn’t mean that those of us that value the proper use of grammar and diction have to join their ranks.  Dictionaries list “irregardless” as a word because there is an abundance of fucktards that use it.  Dictionaries added the definition of figurative to the word literal because there is a plethora of  asshats that see a dress they like and say “I literally died”.  The existence of countless dumbasses in society doesn’t mean I am going to fall in line.

Look, I don’t claim to be perfect.  I dangle participles and end my sentences in prepositions all. the. fucking. time.  The above errors, however, are so blatant.  Just stop it.  It will keep you from looking like a total dipshit and keep me from writing blogs about how fucking stupid you sound.  Everyone is happy.

Things That Make Me go Hmmmmmm

  1. Drug commercials that recite a list of side effects, arguably worse than the ailment it is meant to treat, as if it were a grocery list and, more so, the people that see these commercials, hear these side effects and still seek out the drugs.  The ones that say “(insert drug name) may cause suicidal thoughts or actions.” are my favorite.  Correct me if I am wrong but suicidal action would be the act or attempted act of committing suicide.  If suicide or anal leakage is a potential side effect, I’m just going to stick with whatever ails me.  Thankyouverymuch.
  2. Parents that boast about the size of their infant’s junk.  This phenomenon has always been odd to me, yet it is so common.  Look, I think your brand new son is beautiful and I don’t mind hearing all about the birth but please, please, for the love of vodka, stop just short of telling me what an impressive dick and/or set of balls your newborn boy is sporting.  Seriously.  How the fuck am I supposed to respond when you, a new parent, says “And, oh my GAWD! He has the biggest balls!  That’s my boy!”?  What do I say?  “Oh, really?  Let me check them out!!”?  How would others feel if parents boasted on about their newborn daughter’s vagina?  That would probably illicit a phone call to the authorities.  It’s just weird.  I’m just sayin…
  3. People who hold doors open for someone who is a mile and fucking half away.  I appreciate the gesture, sincerely, but if I am more than 10 feet from the door, feel free to walk in and not worry about me.  I am less bothered by opening the door for myself than I am the self-imposed obligation to haul ass to the door to keep you from standing there holding it open.  Furthermore, why is it that people will hold a door open for a person that is 50 yards away from the door but if I am 5 feet from the door with a kid hanging off one hip, pushing a stroller, holding a diaper bag and trying to keep a hand on a preschooler, people slip through the door and act as if I am invisible.  Assholes.
  4. Why am I the only person in my household that seems to have been able to figure out the extremely complex method of removing and replacing empty toilet paper rolls?
  5. When someone takes the seat right next to you in an otherwise empty waiting area.   PERSONAL SPACE!
  6. When a couple sits on the same side of the booth at a restaurant, leaving the other side empty.
  7. People that say that everyone’s beliefs/opinions have merit and/or deserve respect.  Bullshit.  If your opinion is the earth is flat, I will not respect that opinion, much less concede that it holds any merit.
  8. Women that say “I don’t have female friends.” or “I have just never gotten along with girls.”.  These women believe that the only logical conclusion is that the problem lies within every woman that they have ever encountered.  The implication is that every other woman is unable to put aside her own rabid jealousy to forge a relationship with this person.  Give me a fucking break.  If you, as a woman, don’t have any female friends, the common denominator is you.  Just because men will sleep with you doesn’t mean they want to be your friend.  It means they want their dick to befriend your vagina.
  9. When parents correct a child for hitting by spanking him/her.  Suffice it to say, the irony is not lost on me.
  10. People who refuse to use spell check.  Most browsers have spell check built in.  Fucking use it!

The Joys of Motherhood

Yesterday morning, I woke up to such a wonderful surprise: I was getting ready for the day when I heard a knock coming from one of the bedrooms.  I realized it was Number 3 and the sound of him knocking on his door meant he had learned how to climb out of his crib.  I thought that would the bad news for the morning but I opened his door and realized how wrong I was.  There he stood, smiling up at me, with those big, handsome eyes and then I  took inventory of the situation.  Not only had he climbed out of his crib but he had also removed his diaper and shit all over his bedroom floor.  Like most people, there is nothing I like doing more, right after getting out of the shower in the morning, than cleaning up fresh piles of shit from my carpet.

I know, I know, some of you read this and think, “DAMN!  How did she get to be so lucky?”.  Well, let me tell you my friends, I don’t like to brag but that is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the spoils of motherhood.

  • This is not the first time he has managed to get his diaper off after filling it up.  On more than one occasion, he has finger painted me beautiful murals across his bedroom walls, made entirely of paint he made himself, in his pants.
  • Number One, Number Two and Number Three are complete and total fucking pigs.  When George Bush was looking for weapons of mass destruction, he didn’t have to go to the Middle East, he just had to come to my house.  Even on housekeeper day (my favorite day of any week), these WMDs can destroy this house in no time flat.  I don’t know how they do it, either!  I swear, it will look like they have been watching TV for an hour and then I look around and every room in my house is a shit hole.  I know that they only explanation is that they have magical, destructive wizard powers.
  • Everyone always says, “you have to watch what you say in front of children.”.  What the fuck do these people know?  Certainly nothing about children or, at least, not my children.  I can pretty much say whatever the fuck I want in front of my children because they don’t fucking listen to a damn thing I say.  It doesn’t matter if I say “stop pulling your sister’s hair!” or “Gah-dammit!  Stop fucking pulling your fucking sister’s fucking hair!”.  I might as well be reciting a fucking recipe for pea soup.  It is like talking to toast.
  • Did you know that “Go clean your room.” actually means “Go fuck off in your room or watch tv.  Whatever you want.”?  Neither did I!
  • If mothers wore uniforms, those with more than one child would be wearing a black and white striped shirt and a whistle because a large portion of the day is spent breaking up sibling brawls and refereeing decisions on everything from what will be on the tv to who gets the last cracker.
  • When you have your first child, and every subsequent child, for that matter, you cannot WAIT to hear them say “momma” for the first time.  Give it a couple of years.  The sweetest sound you have ever heard is soon to become nails on a fucking chalkboard.  That sweet cooing of your baby first saying “momma” that melted your heart, soon evolves into the word that will make you consider drowning yourself in the mop bucket.  “Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! MOOOOOOOM!!  MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!” will soon drive you to the brink of insanity.

  • Children, as it turns out, are equipped with some sort of sensor.  I haven’t determined where the sensor is located but it is there.  This sensor signals your child every. single. fucking. time. you are beginning to relax, when you are in the middle of an important conversation, when the automated system for the light/cable/water/internet/phone company is asking you to “please say what you are calling about so I can direct your call.”, etc.  They can be in the middle of anything and they will drop everything to run out and interrupt you, making sure that you re-tense, have to stop your conversation or have to repeat your issue to the computer twenty fucking times before it just hangs up on you.  I swear, the slightest sign of relaxation from a mother could wake a child from a fucking coma.

  • Do you have any idea how many times a day a kid shits?  Number three goes, at least, 341 times a day.  True story.  Also, for some reason, potty trained children cannot grasp the concept of flushing a fucking toilet.  It is like Christmas every day when I walk into the restroom and see the gifts my older kids left me in the toilet.

Don’t be jealous.

I Turned Out Fine

I’ve seen this status update floating around Facebook recently that irritates me:

How many of you were raised on bologna, biscuits & gravy, fried potatoes & soup beans, played in the dirt, got your butt busted, had 3 TV channels & it quit at ten o’clock, school started with “The Pledge,” had a bedtime, rode in back of pickup trucks, recorded the top 40 from the radio on cassette tapes, drank from a hose, played in the creek, rode your bike all day without a helmet …and you still turned out OK. (emphasis mine)

The portions in bold are the parts I find the most annoying and/or ignorant.  Let’s look at those:

“Rode in the back of pickup trucks…”

Seriously?  This is, without question, the most ignorant part of this paragraph.  Why not also include “didn’t always use car seats or seatbelts” or “were held by our parents in the front seats as infants/children.”?  Would the person who wrote this, or those who promote it, permit their child to ride freely in the cab of their car or to ride on someone’s lap in the front seat?  Because if the answer is no, either of those options is a whole hell of a lot safer than allowing a child to ride in the cargo area of a pickup truck.

Passengers in the back of a pickup truck are 8x more likely to die than passengers in the cab.  The fact that in years past we weren’t aware of the extent of the risks doesn’t mean we should turn a blind eye to them once they are discovered.  There is no excuse to not have your child properly restrained in a vehicle.

“drank from a hose…”

On the surface, drinking from a water hose skeeves me out because roaches, birds, rats, mice, etc have probably been in the nozzle looking for a drink and I don’t want my kids putting their mouths on there.  On a deeper level, do you know whether or not your hose is made with polyvinyl chloride (PVC)?   If it is, you should be aware that PVC is stabilized with lead which, while sitting in your hose, seeps into the water supply and can reach concentrations of 10-100 times the allowable lead levels.

This one is the least of my concerns, really.  The fact is, you can get hoses that don’t have PVC and are perfectly safe for drinking from and if you don’t have any personal hangups about the idea of roaches and rodents having sought out water from the end of your hose, then go for it.  You really won’t get any judgment from me on that one.  I was just sayin’…

“rode your bike all day without a helmet…”

Again, when we know better, we do better.  If a bike helmet significantly decreases your child’s risk of sustaining a head injury, which could even be fatal, why wouldn’t you strap one on his/her head?

Here is the deal:  No one is suggesting you have to put your kid in a bubble.   Totally disregarding minimum standards of safety is just negligent, though.  Driving down the interstate with young children in the back of your pickup truck should be considered reckless endangerment.  It is like playing Russian roulette with your child’s life.  Putting a helmet on  your child just shouldn’t be considered such a hassle!  Seriously.  Stick the helmet on their damn head!  If it cuts the risk of any degree of injury, much less decreases the risk of a potentially fatal head injury, why would you brush it off?

Keeping your children safe shouldn’t be viewed as a burden.  As a parent, your child’s safety should be a top priority.

Chocolate Eclair Cake

This will be a new addition.

Someone make this for me and bring it over.

  • 2 (3.5 ounce) packages instant vanilla pudding mix
  •  (8 ounce)  whipped cream
  • 3 cups milk
  • 1  pack graham crackers
  • 1 tub chocolate frosting

Directions

  1. Mix together the pudding, whipped cream and milk.
  2. Line the bottom of 13×9 inch pan or casserole dish with graham crackers (I crumble them up.  It doesn’t have to be pretty). Pour half of pudding mixture over top of graham crackers.  Cover pudding with another layer of graham crackers and pour the remaining pudding mixture over the top.
  3. Put in refrigerator and allow to set for 30 minutes.
  4. Microwave frosting for 20-30 seconds and pour over the top of pudding.
  5. Refrigerate for 2-3 hours
  6. Deliver finished product to me.