Tuesday, December 29, 2009

How Thomas the Tank Engine Almost Ruined Christmas

My 2 year old is OBSESSED with Thomas. It's like that train is a little crack rock and my son needs his fix. I took my boys Christmas shopping for their dad and to buy some little outfits to wear at their grandparent's house for Christmas dinner. As I am trying to find something in the sorry excuse the stores call a "Toddler Boys"aisle my little Remy sees toys (because stores like TJ Maxx and Marshalls are out to sabotage a mother's day by placing toys next to kid's clothes while their employees stare at you like YOUR fault you can't control your offspring) and immediately starts to scream "Thomas!!!!" at me and cry loudly. I try to tell him sweetly that A) Santa is going to bring Thomas if he is "nice" B) there aren't any Thomas toys there right now C) stop crying right now or you will have a time out in the car. None of these worked as he couldn't hear me over his screams. On top of that, his unruly behavior activated my 3 year old who began climbing out of the cart and screaming "I want to walk!". So now I have a chorus of "Thomas, waaaaa!!" and "Mama I want to walk!!!" as other shoppers stare at me like I have shit sprayed all over me. I did the one thing Dr. Spock and any other child "expert" would totally disapprove of, I bribed those two little people right there in the store. I offered candy in exchange for a more peaceful shopping trip. It worked. And my boys looked like this in their new shirts on Christmas day:
Lash & Remy
Thomas' path of destruction did not however end there. My husband, being the preemptive dude that he is took the boys shopping after their nap on Christmas Eve. He needed to get me a few things and wanted the boys to pick gifts for me. With sweet pictures of our little guys carefully selecting gifts of love for their mama dancing in his head my husband headed out into the war zone that was Christmas Eve shopping. Evidently the minute he hit Victoria's Secret Remy started in with his Thomas rampage. He yells his crack rock's name while crying and screaming. He didn't give a damn that Thomas the Tank Engine didn't even exist at Victoria's Secret. Surrounded by underwear, bras, and pajamas my baby wanted his Thomas. My husband high tailed it out of there because the sales girls were being rude in the first place and my son's tantrum was not helping the situation. His next stop was the Juicy Couture store where he hoped all would be better (so brave and optimistic). As my husband was shopping with his favorite salesperson my youngest started with the Thomas crap. A nice sales girl offered him a sticker in an attempt to be helpful (which is more than I can say for those bitches at Victoria's Secret). Evidently this kindness just set his tantrum into overdrive and he proceeded to obliterate a display with his foot. I am glad I was not there or I would have acted like I didn't know the child using the nice Juicy display as a soccer ball. Thankfully this ill fated shopping trip ended with some great gifts for me but has left a sour taste in my husband's mouth for shopping solo with Remy.

Thomas tragedies aside, Christmas turned out great. We had a great morning opening gifts:

We spent the evening with my husband's family which was wonderful and fun:

(Good times but Remy and I were exhausted by the end of the night)
I fully enjoyed my holiday but would like to take that little train and run it over in the street with my Yukon. I fear though that if I tried this my son would have withdrawls and have to enter rehab at the tender age of 2 which probably wouldn't look good. Maybe I will get my revenge in a few years if he outgrows this.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

A Break From the Monotony

As a follow up to yesterday's bitch fest about cleaning I forgot to disclose that I don't have to clean the first floor of my house this week because we are in the middle of remodeling our kitchen leaving our kitchen and dining room to look like this:

Dining (all kitchen items piled here)

Kitchen(cupboards are going in and granite being cut)

This is where my sink,dishwasher,and trash compactor will go

Though these are only two of the three areas downstairs I am considering the mess and clutter my excuse to ignore the living room as well. I am keeping the bathroom clean since the construction workers are using it but other than that I am free!!! No dishes, no vacuum, no dusting (sawdust everywhere anyway), and no vacuum. I am also granted a reprieve from laundry since our water softener is disconnected while the sink is gone. There's no water to my washing machine!! A bit inconvenient but we have enough to wear (if you don't mind holes and grease stains). I feel liberated. We are spending a fortune in eating out though so I hope my Utopia ends by this weekend the way it is scheduled to. For now though, I am kicking back and enjoying my big break. Check back soon as I will be posting pics of my new kitchen when it's done.

Merry Christmas!!!!

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Adventures In Monotony

I waste a lot of time wondering how I waste so much time and why I feel so overwhelmed. It’s not like my duties as housewife change every two days, but I still couldn't’t figure out why nothing was getting done. Then, I figured it out. I feel overwhelmed which leads to me doing nothing at all because I am the queen of avoidance. Though my job activities are fairly simple they become overwhelming because they never feel done. When I taught I had the ability to feel accomplishment and that I had COMPLETED a task. I could measure this through my students’ grades after a lesson or through finishing a section of a textbook successfully. No matter what I do around this damn house nothing ever feels done. I can (and on occasion do) spend a whole day cleaning and scrubbing and washing only to have my husband and kids screw it up within the first hour of being home. My boys (who lets face it don’t know better yet) get more food on the table during one meal than in their little stomachs, my husband will ash/shave (without rinsing) in the sink I just cleaned, or my dad will make his morning toast without cleaning up the subsequent crumbs. So, after busting my ass I have to go back and clean the same thing within hours of its first scrubbing which I refuse to do because I am not the Merry fucking Maids and housework bores me to the point of tears. It took me so long to figure this out but this is why nothing gets done, because if I can’t feel that sense of accomplishment at least once or twice a week for more than 2 hours I will avoid doing the task. I understand that we live here and that shit happens (both in and out of my children’s diapers) so all I’m asking is that the other adults that live here pick up after themselves the first day or two after they notice I have cleaned. I chose to be a housewife and take care of my family which I don’t mind on a reasonable basis but that does not mean I am an indentured servant or Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day”. I do not wish to clean the sink or toilet twice a day. I prefer to do it like 2 times a week (that may be lazy but that’s the way I roll). Now instead of wasting time wondering how I waste time I am free to waste my time plotting a scheme to extract some assistance from the other residents of my house (bigs and littles).
Hmmmm, looks like I’ll be waking up in Punxsutawney again tomorrow.

**Let me and my few followers know how much help you get around the house by taking my poll in the left sidebar.**

Thursday, December 17, 2009

I'm So Sorry

To anyone who actually reads this sorry I haven't posted but I have been busy and uninspired. I rack my brain trying to figure out what to write about and nothing comes to mind. I think this is why I never pursued my dream of becoming a writer, I suffer from extreme writers block too often. I will try to come up with something great in the next few days though. As the honorable Governor Schwarzenegger (hope I spelled it right) used to say "I'll be back".

Thursday, December 3, 2009

I Curse Therefore I Reap

As those of you with kids understand the first year is spent in blissful freedom. You can talk about whatever you want however you want because the baby doesn't know the damn difference. Then out of nowhere you have a 3 year old saying "God dammit" when he crashes his bike, calling one of his fellow prisoners at daycare an asshole, or telling you "I always say fuck mama". He perks up when you discuss toys or going out somewhere. To put it simply, you have a mini eavesdropper in your midst and you have to adjust. This seems to happen faster than your mouth and mind are ready for. I try spelling things I don't want my kids to hear to my husband but he's a little slow on the uptake and I end up attempting to whisper it. But 3 year old radar ears picks that up and is instantly all up in the biz. Don't get me wrong, I love that he has learned to understand and process his world. Hell, I'm kinda proud he uses curse words in perfect context (pat on the back for teaching him shit can be used as an exclamation and not just to label what comes out of his ass). The problem is it is socially unacceptable for my 2 year old to exclaim "Holy shit" when the barbeque is on fire no matter how appropriate it is for the situation. I have begun to practice word substitution. My 3 year old has caught on and will assist. He came up with saying "doughnut" for dammit. So now when I curse he calls me on it by saying "Mama don't say shit" or whichever offensive word I've chosen (I've tried to tell him to chastise me by saying we don't say bad words but he insists on repeating whatever word I've used) and I quickly try to come up with a substitute that sounds like the word. Having trouble with quick thinking however I have used "omit" for shit and that didn't quite work. I don't understand why this transition has been difficult, I was a teacher and refrained from cursing in front of my students all year. It's probably because this is my home so my comfort level increases my verbal offenses. Either way I have a couple of mini sailors on my hands and the deprogramming seems to go much slower than the original programming, I'm working at it diligently though. Now to just figure out how to keep up on the substitutions during my husband's Sunday football games.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Black Friday Observation (a little late)

This year for the first time in a long time I ventured out on Black Friday. My husband wanted to look at electronics at Best Buy and we wanted to hit up some of the Toys R Us sales. So we stood in line for an hour and a half at Best Buy to buy a new television. It was uneventful at most. There were several women who didn't even bother to change out of their night attire though it was 9am. Later in the evening we left the kids and went to Toys R Us. Though the store was ransacked that trip was also uneventful, pleasant even. When we got home is when I saw all that we had missed by going out later. News footage showed people standing in huge lines at 5 in the morning. We saw masses running into Targets and Walmarts everywhere. Overweight housewives with no make up and a crazed look in their eyes were caught on surveillance cameras bolting past the shopping cart station toward who knows what. These people had that look of someone who's been stranded on a desert island for months only to be rescued by a Navy ship with a buffet on board. Complete with unkempt hair, pajamas as fashion, and I'm going to guess a lack of oral hygiene. It made me wonder where have we really gone as a society. People so driven by sales they bum rush security guards to buy a navigation device touting 100 dollars off. Does a 10 dollar toaster really mean that much to you? I know we're in a recession and any deal helps, but could you shower and maybe change out of your pajamas before hitting the local super center? Is it too much to ask that everyone enter the store in a mannerly fashion instead of like a heard of cattle who've just been allowed to pasture? I don't know, maybe it's because I am a bitch and don't enjoy shopping like a sardine but Black Friday is not for me. I don't want to experience the masses in their unwashed greed driven stupor. I guess I'm just more of a Cyber Monday girl or I'm just a bitch being judgmental of people who need a deal. Either way I gotta go, my 3 year old just tried to hand me a piece of shit from his diaper putting me in the running for most glamorous among the Black Friday shoppers.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Purses, Shoes, and Pajamas......

My three favorite things for so many reasons. Now, I am not your typical woman, I hate to shop. It is tiring, time consuming, and a little depressing since I am still carrying 10 pounds of baby weight 2 years after my last baby. But the title of this post holds 3 things I don’t mind shopping for any time. These items always fit, never make me look fat, and do not require a full strip down in those little dressing rooms with the harsh lights and even harsher full length mirrors. It just seems like every piece of cute clothing was made for someone sporting a size 1 or some other tiny number which only seems fit for the children's section of a store. I have managed to get down to a size 9 and this still seems obese when faced with a pair of non-mom jeans (you know the mom jeans, they start at just above your ankle and end under your breasts). A great purse on the other hand can dress up any outfit as can a great pair of shoes. If they’re great enough, shoes and purses can also attract attention away from the deflated Joey pouch my kids left behind (momentarily anyway). Pajamas are a beast all their own. They are cozy and warm with the same forgiving benefits to my figure. I don’t even have to try pajamas on as I know my size and if they are loose that’s even better. I have always loved pajamas but the purse and shoe thing has evolved over the last year. My husband actually started my purse obsession when he bought me my first Juicy Couture purse for Christmas last year. I had always bought purses at Target or some other discount store up until that point but now I owned a true name brand, and I loved it. Since then, I still buy purses at the discount stores but I have peppered in quite a few high end versions as well. As for shoes, I will buy those any where there is a sale. My current favorite shoe store is Famous Footwear because they have BOGO (buy on get one half off) all of the time and as part of their rewards program I get lots of coupons making for even deeper discounts. Motherhood has brought me many things but these 3 addictions were quite unexpected. If my boys hadn’t left their carry on baggage in my uterus making my abs completely immune to muscle I probably would still hate all shopping but thanks to those extra pounds (which I have done nothing to try to lose) I have found my niche. Now I just have to find a way to convince my husband to keep up the funding for items which have to be alternated and probably won’t be used every day.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Moms Gone Bitch!!!!!!

You know who you are. You were cool before kids but now, not so much. I don’t know what it is about having kids that causes some moms to go bitch. You know those women, walking around with that look on their face like they just caught the scent of shit and it’s smeared all over you and your kids. Giving unsolicited advice in a manner that makes you want to bitch slap them and run away quickly. I myself have developed certain quirks I never had before such as stress induced episodes of intolerance toward my family and laziness that is beyond embarrassing. I noticed this bitchy gene when my first son was born and I joined an advice community called Babycenter. It is supposed to be a place to gain advice and feel connected to others going through the crazy shit all mothers go through. Through this website I noticed that some women use it as a platform for their never ending judgmental “I’m and expert at mothering” attitudes. I quickly realized this attitude isn’t reserved for the website. It has infiltrated playgroups, birthday parties, schools, and anywhere else we hens tend to gather and cackle. The last time I was judged so harshly or so often was in high school. That was a cakewalk compared to what we go through as mothers because of each other. I have avoided playgroups outside my small circle of friends for this reason. At least with my friends I can say “Hey you’re being kind of a bitch right now so could you please back the fuck up” and I won’t be evicted from the group. My kids are actually pretty well behaved but when we’re out or with some people the only things I notice is what I think other moms will pick up on like my son taking any toy he sees in another toddlers hands or how I yell after the 5th time telling one of my kids to stop touching stuff at the store. If you happen to be there during one of my "episodes" don’t give me those condescending or disgusted looks because you know your perfect ass and your little asshole offspring are guilty of those behaviors sometimes. You’re just better at not doing it publicly. Instead, smile at me with that look of “been there sister” like some of the nicer species of mom do. It’s great that you’ve mastered a skill for which there is no training camp or book but could you please kick that knowledge down to the rest of us in a manner that is a little less, well, bitchy?

Monday, November 16, 2009

My Husband's Toy Aversion

If you have children you have "them". Toys. Maybe they're in your living room because your kids are too small to play away from you. Maybe you're lucky enough to have a playroom dedicated to them even though they find they're way out of that room and into areas of your house you'd never think to look for them. Either way, once we become parents toys become a necessary evil that must be dealt with. My kids have a way of emptying their toy shelves at an exponential rate that leaves me completely exhausted. Occasionally I have them help clean up but if you've ever cleaned with a 2 and 3 year old you know it can be like pulling your hair out strand by strand and if you want it done you'll do it yourself most of the time (screw the theory about responsibility, when they become more able I'll be more than happy to share the burden). Anyhow, most days the living room looks like a tornado has hit and FEMA is still 3 days out. This is where my husband comes in. He, like FEMA, is not proactive. He'll watch me haul the boys upstairs with the last strains of energy in my body to be used for a bath (every other night), story, teeth brushing complete with spitting, and a loving tuck in. During this time he will commence sitting on the couch or at the computer. When I return to the toy horror I, being a chick, will say nothing and begin picking up those stupid toys making sure to shoot him poignant looks which I hope convey disdain, anger, annoyance, desperation, etc. His reaction to those looks is to say "You should have told me. I would have picked up the toys." I should have to ask? I would assume that after watching me wrangle the boys upstairs nightly and seeing firsthand on weekends how hard two toddlers can be all day he would just pick up the toys some nights to be helpful. Would it kill him 2 or 3 nights a week (without being asked) to clean up toys while I put the kids to bed. That's right, I said 2 or 3 nights because I'm cool like that. I don't expect it every night. He works too hard all day to have toys as a nightly expectation and frankly some nights I don't mind doing toy detail myself. I am home all day so I see the majority of the housework as my job (bite me feminists, it's only fair). My husband does dishes once in a while and I appreciate that very much but I don't expect nor do I want him to have to dust, mop, scrub toilets, vacuum, or complete any of the other daily household duties which keep our home on that fine line between pigsty and livable space. My few expectations are that he continue to do dishes once in a while and take it upon himself a few times a week to pick up the living room our spawn has redecorated in Toys R Us chic.
So baby, tonight while I'm catching our 2 year old's spit with my eyelashes and explaining EVERY picture of the story to our 3 year old, won't you be a dear and put the toys away. At the very least, can you kick them all into a pile near the toy bins to give me a head start?

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Baby Want a Prozac?

This is a question my husband and I ask my youngest son Remy many times a day. He doesn't really need Prozac, but he is one angry and disillusioned little dude. He screams at his toys should they have the audacity to fall apart or move the wrong way. He smacks his brother for breathing and yells at me should I suggest cleaning up, eating, moving, etc. Forget getting out the camera, then he gets really pissed leaving most of our pictures to look like this:

That's him on the left (could his older brother Lash be any sweeter?). This is the same look he had when dressed in a Santa suit for Christmas last year and at the zoo recently. I don't get it. What crawled up his ass at 2 years old? He doesn't have to wipe said ass, drive in traffic, clean the house, pay the bills, or anything else that results in true stress but there he is, always pissed. If you make the mistake of picking him up and trying to love the anger out of him you're chancing a full on beat down. My oldest has learned this the hard way by bearing the brunt of a flying toy and/or fist after trying to cheer the little grouch up. Maybe Remy's had it with the health care debate or is disappointed his 2 years of life didn't turn out the way he planned. Whatever it is that has got his Huggies in a twist I can only hope this doesn't get worse with age. I don't think the school system wants a 5 year old with an adult prescription for Valium tucked away in his little backpack.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

My Son is a Beer Pusher

As many people may know it is football season and my family's favorite time of year. My husband and I are avid Forty Niner fans (save your pity, they're coming back someday) and we currently subscribe to Directv's Superfan package allowing us to watch ALL games. My son caught on in the last year that he can bond with his dad through football and has started yelling at the tv with my husband and now is obsessed with bringing my husband beer after beer. Sunday is the one day a week my husband will embibe unless we have a night out and my son loves nothing more than playing bar maid. Now before you get all crazy and call child welfare, the beer is sealed and my son can't ingest it but he sure works hard to get my poor husband tipsy. My husband will be half way through one when my little son badgers "More beer dada, More beer". I think most of his need to bar tend stems from enjoying getting into the cooler and his surge of toddler helpfulness, either way he's become like a little crack dealer who doesn't take no for an answer. Now any day of the week you can find my son asking "You want beer dada?" no matter where we are. There's nothing more embarassing than a Monday evening with the grandparents or clients and your 3 year old offers to fetch you a beer as if it's something you do everyday, the norm as opposed to what it really is, the exception. My husband is safe from the little pusher this Sunday as we will be at a Niner game. I don't doubt as he sits sweetly with his grandpa watching football on tv and waiting to see us my little man will turn and say "You want beer papa?".

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

What the Hell am I Doing Here?

So, I have decided to start a blog. Having no use for Myspace, Facebook, Twitter, or any other networking site I am not really sure how this will go. The Title for my blog describes how it's been since the day I had my first son, an experiment in whether or not I can be maternal. At this very moment I am trying to type my initial post while my 3 year old whines about wanting more food. Do I stop to service him as he whines "I'm hungry Mama"? Not yet. Usually I have until the threat of tears to react. Here you will read my various and scattered thoughts about motherhood, wifedom, and just being a chick. I hope what I have to say is somewhat interesting and if not, well then there are like 6 million blogs out there that might be more so. Right now though, I need to feed my kid before he grabs my cell and dials CPS.
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