Dear Child O' Mine

September 29, 2009

Child O' Mine

666 Damien Way

Getmethehelloutahere, USA

Dear Child O' Mine:

I am writing to you on official business. We need to discuss your listening skills, or lack thereof. Today, the birthday of one of your very best pals, brought about many fun things. We managed a very fun museum trip with a bunch of friends. While on said trip, you did very well, it was like nothing I had ever seen before. You listened, stayed with the group, and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was experiencing euphoria, parental euphoria.

And then, at soccer practice, it was more of the same. Too good to be true, I thought.

And theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen, dinner out. Oh, dinners out, how you are the enemy of this mother! Suddenly we were transported right back to the minute prior to the museum trip and your listening ears were replaced with your old selective hearing pair. Why is it so hard to sit your ass on the seat where it's supposed to be? Is it necessary to dump Parmesan cheese all over the table and try to lick it off? Does the family at the next booth really need frequent visits from you, peeking over the divider? Oh, and the keeping your hands to yourself thing - is totally necessary! Your best friends do not need to be put in a rear naked choke, this is not the UFC. (Please see your father in his office regarding this, as I am diverting this part to him.)

So, judging by the morning outings, I have proof that your ears do in fact work and that listening is within the realm of your possibilities. I am looking into suing for FRAUD if this non-listening representative keeps showing up in my life.

So please, for the love of all things holy, please at least humor me.

Thank you for your time and attention to this matter. I am looking forward to seeing more of this new-improved listening version of you.

Love,

Your Mother

Phucking Phours

What is it with kids and 'stages' ?!?!?!?!?!??!

When you have a baby, everyone is always warning you to watch out for the 'terrible twos'. The terrible twos for us were not bad. The kid was kind of a horrid newborn (newborn phase was so overrated in this house) so by they time he got to be two, we thought we were doing pretty good. As an aside, we were (are) also really sleep deprived so he might have been a total monster and we just didn't notice. (Apologies to any caretakers for that.) But he was able to communicate, and he wasn't really a tantrum thrower. He really didn't get an opportunity to make his tantrums all that effective since we just sorta stuck him in a room and ignored him anytime it started to happen. Before you call CPS, we didn't tie him up or anything and there was no duct tape involved. And for you social-emotional-development types, sending him to his room hasn't conjured up feelings of abandonment in him - he is a-okay. But tantrums are essentially a waste of time if you do not have an audience, so we never gave him an audience. Tantrums were at a big low here.

Then, while in the midst of the twos, everyone swore up and down that 'threes' were much more horrible - especially with little boys. Great, and here we were thinking that we were getting off easy. Well, threes were okay for us too. Like really okay. Since he is a very verbal kid, he didn't have a lot of frustration since he was able to communicate very well. I think that helped a lot. I mean, it helped HIM communicate so as to negate HIS frustration but it also drove us crazy because he never stopped talking. Ever. He's not even with me while I'm writing this and I'm 100% sure that whatever he is doing at preschool right now involves him talking. Hella loud. Oh, it's naptime there. He is definitely talking.

Twos and threes aside - WHY THE HELL WASN'T I WARNED ABOUT THE FUCKING FOURS? (My girlfriend, Trophy Wife, and I have known each other since our boys were like 5 months old and she termed them the Fucking Fours at soccer practice last week.) Everyone had told me that four was this magical age where you child is normal again and acts honey-dripping sweet. In WHAT universe is this because I want a one way ticket! OH. EM. GEE, people! I am ready to sell this kid down river! The talking back is more than I can handle! I cringe and die inside a little every single time he says something snotty. Obviously, if you've read my blog, you know that I don't hold my tongue much but I do around him. But every time his mouth flies off the handle with some verbal diarrhea directed at me, the Hubby, another kid or another adult (real BIG cringe here) I just shutter. Some days I'd love to snip his little tongue right off so that he can no longer mouth off or stick it out at people. And the table manners, the table manners are atrocious! It's like he's a feral child or something. He obviously got my temper and attitude but I am NOT taking responsibility for his table manners. Those were solely created by him. At this rate, he's not gonna get invited over to a friend's house for dinner ( or any meal for that matter.) There's not even one thing that I can pinpoint about why I hate the fours so much, it's just everything! The selective hearing, the talking just to to talk (if I could just change my name from Mommy to something else for like 1 hour a day, I swear). just EVERYTHING! This strive for independence is going to kill me. Slowly but surely. And I have to live with it for at least 14 more years under my roof. I might be moving out soon. Stay posted for that blog.

One good thing he has going for him in all of this four year old mess is his sense of humor. He's always been kinda funny and picked up on comedy from an early age. Granted, all of his humor at the moment is very poop-centered so that gets kinda old but every once in a while, we have a good gem of a conversation like this one:

(In a public restroom. Naturally, because that is where all his best conversations take place.)

He went pee and then I had to go and promptly laid down an ass-gasket before I sat down.

Him: Why do you need one of those?

Me: Because I need to sit down to pee and I don't want to sit on the toilet seat.

Him: Why do you need to sit down to pee?

Me: Because girls sit down to pee.

Him: Well, you should look into getting a penis, you'd be better off with a penis.

Me (in head): Glad we're the only ones in here today.

So stay tuned about my post on Five Year Olds in a year. Nobody has warned me at all about the fives so I'm pretty sure I'm being set up.

I Get By With a Little Help From My Friends

I recently went to see the movie Julie & Julia with some girlfriends (ironic since this post is about women and friendships.) At one point in the movie Julie is sitting with her girlfriend and husband and makes the remark that she "hates" one of her other girlfriends and asks them if it is normal. Her girlfriend immediately assures her that it is completely normal. Her husband, however, says that he doesn't 'hate' any of his friends. Both women agree that he just doesn't understand and that men are just different.

For some reason, this part in the movie totally stuck out to me. I totally understood this. I can come back from being with a girlfriend (or group of girlfriends) for the day or an evening and totally bitch to my husband about how said girlfriend drives me flippin' crazy. The way she does this, the way she says that, I can't believe she did this, etc... But, lo and behold, I'm hanging out with her the next weekend. My husband, on the other hand is cut and dry: he doesn't hang out with people he doesn't like. He won't seek the company of someone who drives him batty. Period. End of story. In fact, most guys I know are like this.

I have never been one to have a lot of female friends. In part, when I was younger, because I was a tomboy. (Note: still a tomboy.) But from my gathered experiences, I think that once you get too many women in one place, drama will ensue. It just does, good or bad, drama just happens. It doesn't always have to be a major catastrophe but there's always something, I swear. I even have a vow that I will NEVER work another job with female supervisor again in life. (Unless I'm the supervisor and I am totally getting to bitch everyone around.) I've had several jobs where the head honcho was a female and both sucked donkey balls.

When I got pregnant, it dawned on me that everyone in my immediate circle of friends was at a very different place in life - most single or married with no children. I connected with some women in a local Mother's Club and I have to tell you - this is the most female friends I've ever had in my life! If you would have asked me prior to having a kid if I would have been caught dead in a Mother's Club, well, you can probably guess the answer: a resounding HELL NO. And, as I stated before, drama ensues. I've gotten good things, great things even, out of the club and made lasting friendships for both myself and my son, but generally, I've also gotten a lot of drama.

Getting back to my point, because there really is a point... Why do women put up with so much more in friendships than men?

I know one thing that I encounter is that social circles overlap, especially in a small town. Everyone knows everyone and you share a circle of friends, and while you may like 9 out of the 10, it's not worth the static/drama to cut ties with the one friend, lest you find your world turned upside and yourself at the center of a drama. I don't even think it's necessarily that you would care what people thought or said about you, so much as it is just the avoidance of a messy drama that you probably don't have time for. And if your kids are friends, there's a whole other thing, it just gets more and more involved. In a playgroup situation, it's not like you are going to 100% like everyone in the group, right? But you gravitate towards the ones you have common ties with and still remain 'friendly' with the other moms. I don't think men feel the social pressures as much as men on the friendship front.

Don't get me wrong, it's not always about genuine dislike. It could be that the woman just drives you crazy. That can be in a good way too. Maybe her craziness is what you like about her. But it still drives you crazy, nonetheless and you bitch about it anyway. My husband, who generally is a good sport, doesn't seek to continue friendships with people he either dislikes or who drive him ape shit. Because, well, what would be the point?

Do we, as woman, create social pressures regarding our friendships? Why do women put up with so much from our friends? Does this part in the movie make sense to you?!?!?!?!

29, Again!

Today, my Hubby is celebrating the 8th anniversary of his 29th birthday. It will be a shame really, when I celebrate my 29th birthday for the first time later this year. That will make it so obvious - the difference in our age.

I look forward to another year ahead with him, while he continues to amaze me. I am so blessed to have found a soul mate. To have someone truly 'get' you is an amazing thing. (It's even more amazing that he 'gets' me and is still around.) I know I must have done something right (probably in a previous life) to have landed in such a wonderful, loving relationship. I remember speaking to a girlfriend years ago who explained her boyfriend as her 'everything partner' and I totally understand this now. My hubby and I can do everything together, he's so open and game for anything. (Exceptions: getting his feet massaged, pedicures, waxing at a spa, dressing in woman's clothing. Not that I would but, well, just sayin'.)

With each phase of our life, I continue to be in awe. As a friend, he was loyal and honest. As a boyfriend, he was fabulous, kind and giving. As a husband, he has been more than I could ask for. As a father, I am dumbfounded by the way he expresses his love for our son on a daily basis.

Happy Birthday, Hubby! Now, lemme go kick your arse in Rockband!

Orkin Man, Please Save Me!

It's been a busy week here, what with all my sitting around on my ass not really doing anything.

Anyhoo, I am pretty sure that the apocalypse is on it's way. I'm also pretty sure it involves a helluva lot of bugs.

I hate bugs. I'm sure they all serve their little purpose in life but really, I could live without them. Seriously live without them.

Yesterday, I opened my living room curtain to find a very dead bumblebee and a big ass wasp. Yes, wasp, not bee. INSIDE my house. Panics set in because well a) it was a damn wasp and b) the resident bug killer was at work. Resident bug killer = Hubby. So I managed to somehow mess with this wasp and get it trapped in a cup and get it the hell outa my house. Then naturally, I had to scour every inch of my house for a wasp's nest. Fast forward a few hours and I'm returning home from picking up the kid from school and as we are going in the door, I feel something touching my foot. I looked down and saw this nasty ass fucking thing trying to touch me and make its way into MY house:

It was like Master Mantis from Kung Fu Panda, only bigger. (Objects in picture seem 10x smaller. You have been warned!). Okay, so I shoved my kid in the house, and slammed door on this nasty creature's face. But then, I realized that I birthed Dr. Doolittle and naturally, he was obsessed about going to see it and catch it. I, however, was content to never open the door again for fear it was now the star of one of those horrible Japanese monster films. But Super Mama took over and we caught it and let it go on our lawn, far from the front door. I can still feel that little asshole trying to claw at my bare feet. McNasty.

Naturally, for the rest of the day, I had the heebie jeebies and swore that bugs were crawling all over me. Soooooooo, the FOUR flies that kept doing fly-bys on my ear were not helping. At. All. At least by that time, Resident Bug Killer was home and totally manhandled all four of them.

After a good nights rest, I woke up feeling bug free. Until that damn spider in the shower tried to take my life. We recently caught a black widow in the backyard so pretty much any arachnid I see in this place is deadly. Off to the toilet with you damn spider!

So really, where is the damn Orkin Man? Because there is a crisis at my house. Obviously.

(Editor's note: this is a mobile blog post. Therefore, I do not take any responsibility for my iphone's spelling errors. Ahem!)

Sent from my iPhone (proof)

I Keep Telling Myself...

Quirky. My son is quirky. He's been quirky since the beginning. Not to sound like one of those bragging parent types, but we've always been told by people that he's a bright kid. Yeah, sure, whatever. It's not like you put stock into that stuff cause really, people are generally pretty nice about things. How many ugly babies have you seen but still remarked about how precious they were to their parent? Yeah, that's my point exactly. (Note: I am not one of those people that thinks all babies are cute. Call me a realist.)

So back to the quirkiness... Our concerns with his lack of social skills were running high around the three year old mark. He's always been a cling-on but we didn't think hiding under the table at school should be classified as normal behavior. He only did this when the group of kids got too big or loud so there was some sensory stuff going on with him. And far be it from him to play with children his own age because apparently, they don't have much to offer in the way of conversation. Believe me when I say that the Hubby and I cringed at the thought of having the kid at the party who wanted to hang out and talk with adults. There were some other social, but yet somehow not noteworthy, concerns we had going into his three year check up. We expressed our concerns which were neither here nor there with the pediatrician but then she did the little developmental eval part of the check-up. Asked him all these crazy questions and to do a bunch of tricks and stuff. After a puzzling pause she asked if she could do more. Yeah, whatever. After all that, she said he was off the chart and was doing stuff on these tests that was far beyond his age level. Visions of Rainman danced in our heads. Oh, the card counting we're gonna do in Vegas, baby! Unfortunately, memorizing every single dinosaur that ever existed and being fascinated by the workings of all things mechanical do not win you shit in Vegas. Or maybe that is all they win you...

So, we got to pay a thousand bucks of our own money to have him evaluated by a shrink who did like SAT testing or something with him. It was all very official and I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't have been able to answer half that shit. Which leads me to wonder where I would fall on the Spectrum... We had to wait two weeks to get results and her official report back.

*Enter Jeopardy theme song*

Basically, he is very smart kid, gifted in some crazy area about relational something or other (obviously, he did not get this from me.) Translation: He will be able to do calculus but not add/subtract. Well, from what I understand, 1 out of 1 kids is gifted nowadays so really, what's the big whoop? I'm not dying to wear the "My Kid is Gifted" hat to soccer or slap that same sticker on my SUV. If you are, hey, whatever floats your boat.

Ironically, he became a lot more social after we paid all that money to the shrink. Like seriously, the day after - no more hiding under the table. Ah, the money I could have saved, right? But what do you do? Not that we regret doing it (although a Hawaiian vacation woulda been nice) because we are better able equipped to deal with his... quirkiness.

But now, he's kinda verging on that annoying smart kid. Yeah, I said it. You know the annoying kid that asks you questions he knows you don't know the answer to just to tell you you're wrong? Also appalling? He told his classmates to put their hands down in circle time because they didn't know the answer. Really annoying? Trying to have a regular conversation about say, getting dressed, and all of a sudden having him switch the subject to paleontology. Mommy doesn't really care so much about the difference between a raptor's skull and that of a djfadkla;fja;sausrus, because well, put your damn shoes on already. I won't even get into how he befriends all the shy, quiet kids so that he can boss them around and barrage them with little known facts about godknowswhat. Or why he would rather sit on the sidelines at the soccer game and watch the transformation of ice in the ice chest into water a la Sid the Science Kid.

As a parent, you worry about your kids. I worry about his social well being. Nobody wants their kid to be a social outcast, 'cause that's no fun. And besides, Mommy and Daddy are tired of being his best friend, he needs some short(er) people in his life.

I keep telling myself that EVERYONE wants to be Bill Gates' friend NOW....

Remembering 9/11

Wow, I can't believe it's been 8 years since the 9/11 attacks. Seems like yesterday to me, still so vivid. Unbelievable.

Remembering all those lives lost and their loved ones who face life without them.

Aunt Becky Comes to Visit

Aunt Becky of Mommywantsvodka (if you haven't read her blog, you need to) needed a little escape from reality so she swung by our house. I'm sure her visit here made her appreciate her life over at Casa de Sausage a whole helluva lot!

There was partying...the cops were VERY understanding though.

She totally pimped my ride...

She snuggled up to the kid's lovey, G-Money...

She is a diehard blogging whore...

We baked...and we're not telling what's in 'em!

We escaped to Margaritaville...

We got fat... (not that I was skinny to begin with or anything.)

She totally snuck into my freezer...we've sinced signed her up for a 12-step program.

I made her do the dishes...visitors need to earn their keep!

I welcomed her to my world!

It was a sad day when our visit came to an end. I feel such a connection. I'm thinking it has something to do with the fact that she is just as comfortable using the word fuck as I am. Or, it could be this post which had me cracking the fuck up. So, welcome Aunt Becky into your home, you won't regret it. Oh, and vote for me in her contest, 'cause I like free shit.

Bad Mommy Moments

After the wall coloring incident of September '09 and my child's monstrous behavior at playgroup, I have been contemplating some of my finer parenting moments since his arrival four years ago. While I don't generally wax poetic about being the perfect parent, I've realized that there are so many bad mommy moments to choose from. Some favorites:

• The time he split the back of his head wide open at the hotel while we were across the friggin' country and the first thing I did was to start laughing and say, amidst the bloodshed, "You have got to be fucking kidding me. I don't need this right now, I just want to go to bed!" (We ended up in an ambulance and at the ER that night. He still has a fat scar from his staples.) To my credit, there was a lot going on in our life at the time but still, this isn't one of my fonder all-about-me moments.
• The time he ran crying to me at his first soccer game and I told him to leave me alone and "man up". In retrospect, I'm not so sure a four year old understands how to "man up" really. No wonder why he hates soccer. And oh, the look of horror on all those other soccer mom's faces while they were hugging and consoling their boys oh so gently...
• The fact that he goes around reciting commercials (Oxy Clean gets out all your tough stains, This was my first Rectal Thermometer, the best lotion for your Rough Dry Hands, Ice cream and cake, gimme ice cream and cake are all favorites) and asks for infomercial things for birthday and Christmas gifts (Aqua Globes anyone?) is a true testament to him watching way too much television and being babysat by it at times. Goooooooooo me! But, hey, I gotta get dinner on the table, don't I? And breakfast. And lunch. Oh, and don't forget snacks.
• The time he was having a fit at his friend's house and thought it would be a good idea to slap me and I slapped him right back across his face in front of God and everybody. (Don't jump up and call CPS, please. My mom smacked me around many a time, and I turned out okay.) Such a gut reaction, I totally felt bad. Especially bad about the red mark on his cheek. It went away in time for him to go to preschool the next day though. Hey, it was a cop who once told me just to make sure you don't leave any permanent marks. I kid, I kid. (Note: I'm not kidding about the cop telling me this, but I definitely don't just go around beating up the child.)
• The time he tripped at a birthday party and blurted out "Oh shit!" I can't remember if this was age 2 or 3 but it really doesn't matter, he learned that straight from his Mama. As pointed out by a friend, this could also double as a proud parent moment because he did use it appropriately and in the right context. I suppose the fact that he thinks 'damn it' is an acceptable phrase is also part of my great parenting skill set. For the record, my Hubby uses more foul language in front of him than I do. Although I cuss like a sailor (but apparently not as much as Mom of Twenty Kids) I am pretty good about watching my mouth around him. (I just wanted to throw that out there, even though I know my mom totally does not believe this at all. That Hubby o' mine walks on water, I tell ya. Whatever.)
• The many drafts of Ebay and Craigslist ads saved on my hard drive. Advertising a child for sale, of course.

I think I better stop now before I'm offered the first CPS reality show deal or Grandma shows up on my doorstep to whisk her favorite grandchild off and save him from a life with me.

What is the Going Rate for Children?

Ebay? Craigslist? Gotta give him credit, at least he went big.

This Is How We Roll

We had to go to Target today. This is part of our witness protection
program.