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.
Related Posts with Thumbnails