Kid Shaming - I've Stooped

Caution, the photos contained in this blog may be disturbing for some viewers - okay, at least to me! Today, as I made the hike upstairs to retrieve my ten-year-old's laundry, I entered into The Twilight Zone: a time and a place no parent, male of female, would dare venture if given a choice. This dimension that's neither here nor there, exists because my daughter exists. It creates great anguish to those who have ventured in and are tripped, caught and grossed out by it's contents and inhabitants. Yes, this is what I am faced with on this fine Tuesday. Ewe, what is that sticky mess I just put my hand on? What is that smell? Could it be coming from the cup that's full of milk from when? How many stuffed animals does one kid really need? If I got rid of a few would she miss them? 

Am I alone here? While picking up the laundry, I felt like I was sifting through the remains of a house after a tornado, stepping on various items, sifting through papers and toys. I know, for a fact, half the clothes in that closet, taking up space on the floor, were never worn. This just exhausts me. I have spent more hours than I would like to count cleaning and organizing her room, and now it's just back to its former state. Last time I cleaned her room, I found an uneaten wrapped hot dog from a baseball game we went to two months earlier! I think I need to get my hazmat suit on and start all over again. This is going to be a long week. 

I hope this post makes you feel better about your own kid's bedrooms. My other two kids are next - they need to be shamed into cleaning their rooms as well. Out of three kids, couldn't at least one of them been a neat freak?  #cleanyourroom                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

My Two Year Old Thinks My Angry Face Is Funny

We have all heard the phrase, "the terrible twos". With my first child, they didn't exist. In fact I thought it was an urban myth. It's not. My first son was a fairly compliant, easy going child until he hit the tyrannical threes. That is when you really start researching boarding schools.

My sweet little baby is now two. He is much more active and adventurous than his older brother ever was, which makes him easier in many ways. His brother still suffers separation anxiety and hates to be left at school, whereas when I leave my two year old in the church nursery he is all like, "Bye, Mom, no time for hugs, I see a train table". I love his independence, but his adventurous nature also means that he likes to perform death defying stunts such as climbing on the train table and leaping onto the couch, trying to ride his toy car down the stairs, proudly standing on the coffee table, and trying to run away in parking lots, or pretty much anywhere. It is not only that he has no concept of danger. He also knows he is not supposed to do those things and finds it EXTREMELY hilarious when I catch him in the act and put on my angry mom face.

When I was a kid my parents, especially my dad, had that look. You know the one. Without any words being uttered, the look speaks volumes. It says, "You better watch it, kid". This look was all it took for me to shape up. Hold on, my two year old is trying to open the oven. Okay, I momentarily distracted him with a taggie. I knew there was a reason that I left my clean laundry on the dining room table. See, I am not lazy, it was all a part of my grand scheme to keep my child alive until his third birthday. Now he is walking around with the taggie on his head. By the way, if you don't know what a taggie is it is this little square of soft cloth with little fringes on it. It is the new craze in baby toys and great for sensory exploration. Seriously, a square cloth with fringes on it. I bet the inventor is a billionaire.

Okay, I totally went off on a taggie tangent there. Two year olds are not the only people who are easily distracted by cloth with fringes. I told you, adult ADD is real. So where was I? Oh yeah, the look. You know how parents tell their children, "I hope you have one just like you?". I should be so lucky. My two year old finds my angry look and also my angry voice funnier than President Obama fumbling through his cue cards. You may or may not know this, but nothing is more infuriating than Your child laughing while you sternly scold him. Here's the catch: the angrier I get the harder he laughs, which makes me angrier, which makes him laugh harder. Yes, I know parenting expert in the back of the room. I should just remain completely calm whenever I discipline. Believe me, many times I do. Incidentally, he finds my calm, serious voice funny, too. Also, in my defense, it is hard to remain calm when you child attempts to outrun cars. Just a second, he is pulling a chair up to the oven. This can't be good. Okay, he was distracted by the cat. I knew I kept these cats here for a reason. They are cheaper than babysitters and the American Academy of the Powers That Be doesn't get their panties in a twist when you use them to entertain your child for ten minutes.

My two year old is a character. He is full throttle and he has a zest for life. He finds joy in everything. I just wish he wouldn't find so much joy in my angry face. Case in point. The other day I took the car in for an oil change since it was only two months over due. Shut up. It turned out my battery needed to be replaced too, or at least that is what they told me. They could have been lying to make an extra two hundred dollars, but the thought of being stranded somewhere stuck in a dead car with two kids was terrifying enough that I didn't ask questions. This whole process took about an hour and a half, and since it was approaching five o'clock aka the witching hour, I wasn't worried at all. Actually, I always take my car to this place because they have a completely enclosed waiting room and toy room. When you are waiting for an oil change with two kids this is essential. The only problem is my two year old has learned the concept of door handles since our last visit, so he made a game out of running to the door, grabbing the handle, and saying brightly, "I be right back, okay, guys?". Cute, right? It was the first 77 times. Nonetheless, we managed to get out of there only two hundred and twenty dollars poorer, and they even pulled my car up to the door for me. Again, a great perk when you are traveling with kids. By now it was getting dark. As I hauled my kids out to the car and fumbled for my keys my two year old broke away and attempted to run around the car. I grabbed him quickly, swatted him on the diaper and yelled, "We do not run away in parking lots! A car could squish you!" He dissolved into giggles to which I helpfully and maturely responded, "It's not funny!" I got him in his car seat and started driving, finally coming to the logical conclusion that I should ignore his maniacal laughter since my scolding was proving so comical. The entire way home he would pipe up from the back seat, "Mom? Hahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!"

Yesterday he continuously tried opening the oven. This is the downside of a double oven. A time out and Angry Mommy face ensued. I sternly told him if he touched the oven again he would be right back in time out. He got up, smiled at me, and promptly walked over and lightly touched the oven with his pointer finger. Another time out ensued. Sitting in a chair is the ultimate punishment for a child who never stops moving, so he finally conceded with a "Sowwy, Mommy," and moved on to chasing the cat. His latest trick is standing on the coffee table and then calling, "Mo - om!" to make sure I see him.

I swear, he was just a baby yesterday. I fear I am about to turn in to that wistful old lady in the grocery store whispering, "It goes by so fast". Maybe I should wrap this up. Before you misunderstand me, I love my two year old's precocious personality. I think it will serve him well in life, providing he survives his toddler years with all his appendages in tact. I also love his brother's intuitive, sensitive nature and they way he can sit on the floor and build for hours. I love my children equally but I don't love them the same. They are completely different people with only gender and DNA in common. I love each of them for their individuality and all the little quirks that make them the people they are supposed to be. Still I have to practice a scarier angry face. Excuse me, I have to run. My two year old is about to eat cat food. Hey, that could save on groceries, right?

Could you stay mad at this face?

What's Up Wednesday: A Joke To Get You Over the Hump Day

It's Wednesday. Yawn. This is when the week starts to drag. I though I would share a joke to get you over the hump. This is actually my brother's joke. If you tend to get your panties in a twist over swearing then don't read it. Otherwise, have a laugh and share a joke of your own.

The church was throwing a special dinner in honor of an upcoming visit by the bishop. The pastor was out fishing and he returned to the rectory with the biggest, meatiest trout that you have ever seen. As he was standing in the rectory kitchen cleaning the trout one of the nuns who did much of the cooking wandered in.

"My, Father, that sure is a great fish!"

"Yes," replied the pastor proudly, "I caught this son of a bitch."

As you can imagine, Sister's eyes widened in shock and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.

"With all do respect, Father, I don't appreciate that type of language."

"No, no, no," the pastor hastily explained. "This type of fish is called 'son of a bitch'."

"Oh!" Sister was relieved. "Well, in that case, I'll cook that son of a bitch!"

Later as she was taking the fish out of the oven the deacon wandered in dressed in his Sunday best, nervous for the bishop's visit.

"Why, Sister that fish looks and smells delicious," he exclaimed.

"Thank you," Sister replied proudly. "I cooked this son of a bitch."

"Sister," gasped the shocked deacon, "I am appalled that you would use that word!"

"Oh, my you misunderstand! This type of fish is called 'son of a bitch'."

"Oh! Well, in that case, I will make my special casseroles and side dishes to serve with that son of a bitch."

Finally, it was evening and the bishop arrived. They all sat down to dinner hoping to make a good impression. Everything was cooked perfectly, and the bishop complimented the delicious trout.

The pastor beamed with pride at his accolades. "I caught that son of a bitch," he boasted.

"And I cooked that son of a bitch," Sister chimed in.

Not to be left out, the deacon piped up, "I cooked my best casserole and side dishes to serve with that son of a bitch."

Silence fell upon the table. The bishop leaned back in his chair and looked around the table at the pastor, the sister, and the deacon. Finally he said:

"You fuckers are my kind of people!"

Mad Monday: Fifty Shades of Frustrated

As the Fifty Shades of Grey movie comes out this weekend, the controversy is swimming on social media. It’s bad, it degrades women, the writing is horrible, how could anything of this poor quality be published? (Just to name a few of the assaults on the book). Now, I am not going to promote the book (even though I read it and was highly entertained), but what I do want to call to your attention is the problem of people critiquing something they have never read. The vast majority of those who poo poo the book and the movie, have never even read the book, and that just gets my goat. When I ask people what they think the book is about, the answers vary, but they are NEVER on the mark.

I belong to a book club where we hash out books every month, ones we wouldn't normally read in order to force ourselves out of our comfortable genres and into (hopefully) an appreciation for other styles of writing and their genres. Most of the time I finish the book, and if I don’t, I feel it is not my place to criticize it, especially if the others in the group really liked it - there has to be a reason right? I respect their opinions completely. And let’s face it, the reason there are so many different genres and writing styles out there is because of just this issue – personal taste. Some people like a good romance, others prefer fantasy, sci-fi, historical fiction, non-fiction, etc. Some women like a little smut with their romance and some are appalled by it. It’s okay – different strokes for different folks, right?

But, bringing it back to book club, we read a classic this past month – A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. This book is extremely graphic with rape scenes and general evil. It’s a hard book to swallow, but it has a great message that manifests itself throughout the book. Good vs. evil and a human’s ability (or inability) to choose between the two. I had to get to the end of the book to really appreciate the way the author teaches us this - but that’s just it – I got to the end of the book. I read the whole thing. I was entitled to my opinion because I finished it. Some didn’t finish, but had plenty to say about how horrible it was and then pushed their views on how skewed the premise was. But when I asked if they knew what the message was, they got it all wrong! How do you argue with someone who never read the book?  Or worse yet, only read the first 10 or so pages that are filled with complete evil? How do you carry on a constructive discussion if they don’t understand the basic, fundamental lesson that lurks within the pages that they refused to read?! You can’t.

I’m not bashing my book club group or the members in it – I love them all. (I love you all!! Really I do!!) However, I do feel very passionate about following through from beginning to end before passing judgment.  This works in other areas as well – it’s not just limited to books and movies. Whether it’s politics, world views or health concerns (the measles vaccine vs. the Autism controversy to name one), we owe it to ourselves and to those around us to educate ourselves before we open our mouths and spit out unreliable bullshit. I don’t talk much about politics because, quite frankly, I would prefer to have a root canal than to read about their preschool level antics. When an election comes, I do my research, make an educated choice and wipe my hands of it. But I don’t complain about someone voted into office if I never voted!  

So, formulate your own opinions. Read the book, watch the movie, research an event or topic, take a bite of food you don’t think you’ll like, vote – educate yourselves. Don’t take another person’s word for it. Education is the best tool we have in promoting healthy opinions. And hey, if you don’t like it after your read, watched, researched, tasted, or voted, then you have a right to your opinion and I will respect that (and so will most everyone else!). BTW, who’s going to see FSOG this weekend? 

Random Thoughts Thursday

I know how Jan feels about her lost chapter. When I was in AP English in high school I was almost through a fifteen page paper with limited to be verbs when my paper disappeared into internet space. That hurts. Now I save my work in several places and email it to myself because emails seem to stick around forever.

I am also writing a novel. Jan is my mentor.

The silver lining of Jan's shitty situation is the fact that you got to hear my niece's beautiful singing. When she is on Broadway in ten years you will be bragging that you were one of the first to hear a performance.

You may have read my Mad Mondays post. My kids were suffering major cabin fever. Usually they get along, but they were fighting over ridiculous things such as the location of plastic chairs and the welcome mat. I think the last one is kind of self explanatory. We had to get out of the house before I jumped out a window and stuck my head in a snowbank, so I took in the sight of my house with boot prints on the floor, crumbs on the counter, a crumpled up table cloth, and a full washer and dryer and said, "Screw it!". I am now at this ingenious place called Cafe and Play which is just what it sounds like. Let me give you a visual. I am sitting at a table with a cub of coffee, okay, fine, a mocha with 600 calories, and my kids are playing five feet away in a fully enclosed, child proofed play area. I have been here fifteen minutes and have only been interrupted five times, which is about a third of the interruptions I experience at home within the same time frame.

This great place is closing its doors next month due to lack of revenue. Apparently not everyone likes to drink a cup of coffee and sit down. Come on, people! We need to start a donation page to keep this place opened. Places like these keep us Illinois stay at home moms with young kids sane during the long winter months. Did I mention that it is winter for like five months here?

I have now been interrupted nine times.

I feel guilty for sitting here typing instead of interacting with my kids within the play place. Then again, they do have wifi so I guess I am not the only slacker mom here.

I see a lady holding a newborn. It kind of makes me want another one.

My five year old is trying to help toddlers escape from the play area. My two year old is climbing up the slide. The feeling has passed.

My husband has a work dinner tonight. I don't think work and dinner can be said together unless you are the one cooking, especially not if alcohol is involved.

I thought of another way in which kids are like cats: both have a compulsion to climb shit. The difference is cats land on their feet when they fall. They also come potty trained. However, cats get very pissy when you attempt to take them anywhere, whereas kids get pissy when you remain in the house for extended periods of time.

I just spilled coffee in my lap because the lid wasn't on all the way. Should I make like the McDonald's lady and sue? Nah, they have no finances, remember?
I have now been interrupted twenty one times. My five year old thought I should know that some kid in there has a stinky diaper. As long as it's not mine I don't care.

If no one sees my house in its current state, is it still messy?

My five year old asked me if we can order french fries. They don't have french fries. Or beer, oddly enough. I think that would solve the cash inflow problem. See, Hunny, I could be an accountant.

I really think this blog platform needs to have spell check. Every time i try to copy and paste from Microsoft Word my font turns all weird.

Maybe I should just learn to spell.

Needed a little Pick Me Up (after a chapter I spent hours writing didn't auto save!)

Yes, it happens. That wonderful piece of writing you know you will never be able to duplicate, doesn't get auto-saved or sent to the big cloud in the internet sky before you accidentally press the off button on your computer. An entire chapter and two days worth of revisions. This probably goes with Kat's Horrible Monday post but it happened to me today, Wednesday (well now it's actually Thursday and  I am just starting to pull out of my self pity enough to post this). So, feeling a little blue, I asked my daughter, Julia to sing me a song and I thought I would share. #whenautosavedoesntsave

Mad Mondays: Kat and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Welcome to Mad Mondays, where we can air our pet peeves, complaints, and gripes. Basically, Mad Mondays will be a bitch fest but in the humorous sense, not in the whiny, chip on my shoulder sense. Please add your own gripes, complaints and pet peeves in the comment section. We know you have some, you can tell us. After all, nobody ever said TGIM!

When I was a kid my favorite story was Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good, Very Bad Day, now a major motion picture. Your welcome for the free advertisement, Steve Carell. As a kid, I thought the book was really funny and I couldn't get enough of it. I mean, who goes to sleep chewing gum? Of course the next day won't start out well, and we all know what happens when a day starts off in the crapper. As an adult I don't find this book funny, but more of a sad memoir much like If You Give A Mouse A Cookie and all of the torturous books that came after that. I actually wrote a post about that on my Paychecks to Pacifiers blog which I haven't updated in forever. Your welcome for the advertisement, Self.

You know those days where shit just hits the fan and then keeps hitting it until your entire day is just a shit storm that you can't escape? Sorry, Mom, no other word would do it justice. Anything goes on Mad Mondays. Anyway, we have all had more of these days then we care to recall and sometimes all you can do is trudge through until bed and start over again the next day.

My day didn't start out so terrible. It was Sunday, a day of rest according to priests who have no children. Sorry, that was rude. This was also my husband's first day off work since the previous weekend, which was good considering we woke up to a blizzard. An actual blizzard, the fifth worst blizzard in Chicago history, the fourth being the one that took place inside my house on this fine day. We were completely snowed in which meant we were not only missing church but also a super bowl party. Oh well, in my pajamas I stayed and I took this opportunity to make banana nut pancakes and bacon, which were pretty good if I do say so myself. The kids loved them and my husband wouldn't try them because he caught me sneaking K-A-L-E into the batter. I swear, you couldn't even taste it. If I had just cleaned the kitchen and gone back to bed this would have been a pretty successful day, Instead I cleaned the kitchen while my husband worked on his computer constructing our budget, my two year old tried to do stunts involving the train table and couch, and my five year old followed me around the kitchen asking if I could play with him now? How about now? How about NOW! For those of you jer- I mean lovely people like Jan who live in Sunny California or somewhere equally not frozen, let me tell you a little something about being stuck inside a house with kids. It is like being handed the role of cruise director except you don't get paid and your guests are caged animals with the attention span of goldfish. Also, your assistant director won't get off the computer.

After building with blocks for awhile the kids were hungry. Wait, didn't I just feed them? So I made my five year old a peanut butter and banana sandwich since I was out of jelly and I couldn't go to the store because of the whole sixteen inches of snow thing. Since I am not only a cruise director but also a short order cook, I made a hot dog for my very un-American two year old who won't eat peanut butter because it is too sticky. Seeing this, the five year old suddenly wanted a hot dog instead of the sandwich he had ordered. Luckily his brother shared some because the kitchen was closed.

After lunch we played  a riveting game in which the boys crawl around on the floor and bark pretending to be dogs and I have to rescue them from the snow only for them to run away again so I can rescue them again and so on and so forth. Dog people, don't take this the wrong way because I am nothing if not an animal lover, but you know how dogs can be kind of annoying sometimes and kids can be kind of annoying sometimes? Kids who are playing the part of dogs aren't like that at all. Somehow this game morphed into a game of using a cardboard box to slide off the couch. At this point I decided to call nap time since we would have needed a snow mobile to get to the ER. My two year old protested nap time loudly and spent the next half hour in his crib screaming, "No Night night! I want SLIDE!!!!!" before finally falling asleep. Meanwhile, I tossed some buffalo wings in the slow cooker since we couldn't make our scheduled super bowl party because of the whole sixteen inches of snow situation. My five year old wanted to know if I could play with him now? How about NOW? My husband scrutinized a Microsoft excel spreadsheet that apparently showed I was spending an exorbitant amount on groceries. Um, hello? I am always cooking and these people are always eating!

My son and I moved on to an imaginative game of carnival which result in him melting down because of my inability to build a roller coaster in the family room since this was suddenly "his dream". The kid has a future in drama. For a smart kid, I sometimes wonder about his logic. This somehow transformed into a melt down about the fact that we couldn't go to the "bowl party" and a monologue about his plan to "fire the weather boss". Caged animals. When this particular storm had passed we resumed our dog game except in this version I had to adopt him from the shelter and take him to my home where he would promptly run away and so on and so forth. My husband promised to be off the computer in five minutes. My two year old woke up in a difficult mood and then proceeded to have explosive diarrhea. The hazmat team couldn't get to us on account of the whole sixteen inches of snow thing, so I yelled at my husband to get me a plastic bag and some disinfectant. My two year old got an impromptu bath. After the bathroom and surrounding ares had been thoroughly scoured, I began sorting laundry but was interrupted because the boys were hungry. See what I mean? I made chicken nuggets, veggies, and avocado fries as well as some grilled peppers to go with our wings. My five year old said his tummy "didn't feel like chicken nuggets". Seriously, who are these kids? I informed him that that was what was being served and he could choose to eat it or not. Meltdown. After dinner the kitchen looked like the blizzard had hit inside (which I suppose it had in a sense). I cleaned the kitchen and directed the boys to clean up the toys. My husband helped while trying to get the game on. Unfortunately, our Dish receiver has been overheating, making the watching of television for longer than twenty minutes a fire hazard, which is not much different than the usual television watching experience when you have young kids. Two hours later I had the kitchen cleaned, floor swept and mopped, toys picked up,  and laundry switched over, I snuck onto Facebook for a glance at the pictures of the super bowl party taking place in a parallel universe. Oh well, I was just happy to have the house clean. Now to wash my hands and get the kids to bed so I can relax and not watch TV. A strange thing happened when I turned on the bathroom faucet. Water began flowing out of the vanity and over flowing into the kitchen and onto my freshly mopped floors. I yelled at my husband to get me some towels while I began removing all the flooded crap from underneath the sink and practically begged my footed pajama clad two year old to stay out of the water. My five year old helped by putting his toy cones up at the bathroom entrance. It turned out the pipe had come loose. I tightened the pipe, dried and cleaned everything, and moved on with my evening. My husband read to the boys.I dealt with another blow out diaper. When they were finally in bed my five year old complained of a tummy ache so I gave him some pepto and water and then took a shower because I was still wearing my pajamas from the night before. Shut up, it's not like we were going anywhere. By the time I was done in the shower and wearing clean pajamas (see, I have standards, people) the boys were asleep. I breathed a sigh of relief that this day was coming to a close, finished the laundry and then decided to sit down until I heard the suspicious sound of water flowing. How many frazzled moms does it take to tighten a pipe? After repeating the drying, cleaning up, and tightening steps from an hour earlier I got smart and put a bucket under the faulty pipe. Once I changed my wet pajama pants I gratefully crashed on the couch. Three point five seconds later my two year old began crying. My body appeared to be glued to the couch, so my husband kindly tried to get him back to sleep. When I finally got tired of listening to screams of, "No! I want see Mama!!!!" I trudged up the stairs and crashed on the floor of my two year old's room. It's nice to be wanted, right? I finally began to drift into an exhausted sleep, grateful that the terrible, horrible no good very bad day was over...

Suddenly the door opened and light spilled in from the hallway. Was it an angel coming to take me to my heavenly reward. No, it was my husband. Remember, I missed church that day.

"Aiden threw up," he announced. "What should I do?"

Talk about a rude awakening. I gave him my expert instructions on how to handle a vomit situation and to his credit he took care of it, sheets, a midnight bath, and all. At this point I found it difficult to fall back to sleep because not only was I on the floor but I was also panicking about the likelihood of a stomach virus ripping through the house. Now, I know nobody like stomach viruses but I have a full blown phobia. When someone throws up I feel like I am in an episode of The Walking Dead or Survivor. Who will be next? I was also feeling guilty because apparently his tummy really hadn't wanted chicken nuggets. In my defense, it was a boy who cried wolf situation. Finally, my exhaustion overtook my paranoia and I fell asleep about five point eight minutes before my husband shook me awake and asked if he should give Aiden any medicine. I informed him that I had given him pepto for all the good it had done, and asked him to please spray the entire house with Lysol. I gratefully made it into my own bed at two A.M. and that is how the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day ended. I couldn't make this stuff up. Now, do you want to hear about my Monday?