Tag Archives: Family

Secrets of Motherhood

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I’m dedicating this one to my sister.  She is due next month with her first child. Of course, she has spent the better part of the last 36 weeks being bombarded with advice, most of it unsolicited and, often, useless.  If you’re a parent, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Within moments of going public with news of your pregnancy, anyone that has ever laid eyes on a baby has some pearl of wisdom that they MUST bestow upon you. I mean ANYONE AND EVERYONE. Your family, your friends, the lady behind you in the checkout line, the cashier at the frozen yogurt parlor. EV. REE. ONE.   Perfect strangers will, without hesitation, inquire about your tentative birth plan or whether you plan on breastfeeding. They’re not just asking for small talk, either. To most of these people, there IS a right answer and a wrong answer. Are you pro-epidural? Well, if you didn’t know about it before, you’ll meet at least one person that will provide you a lengthy and detailed synopsis of  “The Business of Being Born” and launch into a diatribe about inductions, interventions, floppy babies and the c-section rate in the US.  Thinking about going unmedicated? Well, prepare yourself because best friends and strangers alike will laugh condescendingly as they place bets on how long it will be before you’re begging for an epidural because if they can’t fathom the thought of enduring labor past 3cm, the only people who could or would are either stupid or crazy. If you state your intent to breastfeed, you’ll hear about how they did it for a day or a week and, you’ll learn the hard way like they did, that it is too hard or too inconvenient or too gross.  If you plan on using formula, you’ll hear all about its inferiority as a nutrition source, the evils of Nestle, and the words obesity, diabetes, and asthma over and again. comic

So, for her and anyone else interested, I’m here to cram my opinions, thoughts and advice on the subject down your throat:

PREGNANCY:

1) If you can’t see your vulva, don’t go blindly waving a twelve blade razor around the area. What has your clitoris ever done to you that would warrant threatening it in such a way? Get a professional or, at minimum, a spotter.

2) The two people who made the baby are the only people who get a say in the baby’s name. Rest assured, if you choose to share the name, there will be people who will hate the name and will make no attempt whatsoever to disguise their disgust. Often, they will offer you one or more alternatives from their mental list of acceptable baby names that, evidently, they have compiled for anytime someone is discussing the name they have chosen for their unborn child.

3) That man of yours that has been so wonderful, funny, charming–your soul mate, since the day you two met? Well, he is soon going to become the most selfish, worthless idiot you’ve ever known because any man who loved you, much less his child, would have taken the time to read those pregnancy books and would know better than to serve you a sandwich overflowing with three kinds of deli meats. If he’s anything like my husband, the asshole will cheat on you in your dreams all the time. We’re still working through that in counseling.

4) Someone, somewhere, at some point in time, declared that the bodies of pregnant women were public domain. Perfect strangers will approach you in the mall, in the streets or right out of a bathroom stall and molest you if you appear at all pregnant. I’m urging pregnant women everywhere to put their sore, tired, swollen foot down and reclaim their autonomy. Do it for yourself. Do it for womankind.

5) The father of your child will say something stupid when you are in labor. Trust me. It will most likely be one of the following:
a) “I’m so tired.”

b) “My back is killing me.”

c) “At least you get to lay in a bed.”

d) “How much longer is this going to take?”

6) IMPORTANT! IMPORTANT! IMPORTANT! Do NOT become tempted to get a mirror and check out your undercarriage for, at least, several weeks after you launch a new human from your birth cannon. TRUST ME! There are few things more traumatizing than holding a mirror to get a look at your south side and having a wide open, clear view up to your brain. I promise, it’s all going to go back to normal. Just give it more than an hour.

PARENTING:

1) You are not going to sleep. Not for a long, long time. Just accept it. Your friend that tells you about their baby that started sleeping in 12 hour shifts at the age 3 hours old is either a liar or an asshole for responding to your lack of sleep complaint with her supernatural tale, especially when she uses the “that’s so weird” tone.  End the friendship. Don’t take the advice of the other friend and start giving your 3 week old infant cereal. Look, if you wanted to sleep, you shouldn’t have had a baby.

2) You aren’t cool anymore. You never will be. Just accept it. The most you can hope for is being “cooler” than some other parents. Your cool quotient will decrease in direct proportion to the number of children you have. You can be one of those, “I’ll NEVER own a minivan” parents but, trust me, unloading four kids from a Tahoe doesn’t make you cooler than the parent unloading three from a Sienna.

3) If you don’t already have some sort of crafty talent that can be honed into a business, you better get one. Get to the craft store, stock up on ribbons, glue sticks, tulle and glitter and get to work. You are going to have to have some merchandise to show if your vision of using Etsy and Facebook as a stepping stone to a bricks and mortar bow and tutu shop  is ever going to come to fruition. If you lack the creative, artsy-fartsy gene, other acceptable mom businesses include fragrant wax warming systems and body wraps.

4) Before having a child, you would have sex several times a week, anywhere you wanted. That was BEFORE you had a child. Now, if you aren’t too tired to have sex, you’ll only have 5-10 minutes to make some magic happen. Oh, you always liked getting started with a little oral? Well, who didn’t? Now, your new favorite foreplay is called “who can get their pants off the fastest”. Foreplay is a thing of the past, as is sexual fulfillment and satisfaction. Your mood music repertoire may have included Al Green or Paramore but now the tune that will accompany your romantic trysts goes like: “D-D-D-D-D-Dora, D-D-D-D-D-Dora! Dora, Dora, Dora the explorer…”. Just accept it.  Trust me, in no time at all, not only will that be like your  mating call, you will also have a sexy (and I use that term loosely) little dance that goes along with it.

5) If the other moms in the neighborhood, at the park or in the play group ask: you are all gluten-free. This is like a cult. Conspicuously carry a bottle of gluten-free ranch to give your children with their veggie sticks. If the little blabber mouth slips about Shipley’s donut holes, launch into a tirade about your friend, now ex-friend, babysitting while you went to a last-minute doctor’s appointment and filling your child with gluten and red dye, despite her KNOWING that you were following the Feingold diet.

6) Privacy is in your past. Just accept it. Whether you are taking a piss or going over every inch of your face and body, tweezers in hand, looking for anymore out-of-place hairs like that one you found under your chin a few weeks ago, you are going to have a captive, and chatty, audience. They’re also going to tell everybody about what they witness.

7) Which reminds me: You’re going to start finding weird hairs in weird places. Few things will ruin a night out faster than going to the bathroom and noticing, for the very first time, a 5 inch hair that looks like a piano wire growing out of your neck.

8) You think you’re critical of your body? HA! Wait until that fuck trophy starts talking! That I have maintained the slightest degree of self-esteem is nothing short of a miracle. Every dimple, every zit, every flabby bit, will be identified and pointed out. It isn’t said with any malice. It is just an observation, said in either a question form, as if to wonder if you were aware or inquiring as to what the blemish or flaw is, or said just to point out, as if just letting you know it was there was pertinent.

9) Moms can be horrible to other moms. For some reason, this phenomenon isn’t prevalent between dads. It is just moms. They will judge you and every choice you make. Don’t listen. Don’t get sucked in. Don’t let them make you second guess yourself. You listen to YOUR instincts. You listen to YOUR baby. You do what feels right to you. These are miserable bitches. Their lives are so sad and meaningless, that their only source of validation is admonishing other mothers. I feel sorry for them because it is so obvious that they’ve never been introduced to wine.

10) You’ll hold your baby and cry because you’re so overwhelmed with love, you know you could never give this life up.

11) You’ll cry because you’re so overwhelmed, you think you would.

12) Now that you’ve provided an heir, everyone will stop asking, “when are you going to have a baby”. Don’t go getting comfortable, though. NOW, the question everyone will ask is, “when are you going to have another one”. If and when you have a second child, it is usually general curiosity about whether or not you plan on having more. Any more than three, however, and everyone suddenly shifts to wondering when the hell you’re going to stop breeding.  Every person that says, “You know what causes that, don’t you”, seems to believe that it MUST be the first time you’ve ever heard that joke, even when they say it to you at every, single family function.

13) Babies grow up fast. Real fast. Don’t blink or, if you have to blink, take lots of pictures. You don’t need professional shots every half hour. The snapshots are the ones that you will really treasure. The ones with the story that you remember so vividly, even though it was 11 years ago and it was so insignificant to everyone else around. You’ll remember every stitch of his clothing and every giggle from that moment captured in time.

14) Pick your battles. If your two-year old son wants to play with a knife, take immediate action. If he wants to play with your purse, no one is going to get hurt.

15) You’ll eat so much crow after you have a baby. You’ve spent years judging other parents, listing out the things you’d never do or that you’d do so much better. It’s so easy to be a perfect parent when you’re standing on the outside looking in but minutes after your larvae comes screaming from your loins, reality is going to kick you square in the taco. Sure, YOUR kid is never going to watch TV! Then, one day, you’re going to want to take a shower or a crap and you’ll say YOUR child will only watch educational shows and only one a day. Then, you’re going to want to make a phone call or have sex with your husband or just a moment of peace and it all goes out the window. Of course, YOUR kid is never going to have any sugar. EVER. Then they will. Your kid is going to be completely conversational in sign language by the age of 6 months because studies show that they have a better grasp of language later and will complete their master’s degree in under a year. Then, if there is a God, you’ll wake up one day and stop worrying about stupid shit.

16) Never have an empty wine rack. Never. Ever.pair

The Good Wife’s Guide

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ALLEGEDLY, this is an excerpt from a 1950′s magazine, though its origin is undetermined, according to Snopes.

Regardless of its origins, I was led to another blogger’s post via Pinterest the other day, which was endorsing the same marital advice for any other Stepford wife in training. I’m using this list, rather than link the blog because:
1) It is pretty much the same list, just in different words.

2) I don’t like the idea of rewarding the aforementioned blog with traffic, given the values that the author espouses in regards to a woman’s role.

In the 50′s, this brand of advice would be expected. Disappointed doesn’t begin to describe how I feel knowing that there are women that still subscribe to and endorse this school of thought.

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

Look, if you want me to cook dinner you can’t put all these conditions on it like, it needs to be ready on time and/or it has to be delicious. Do I look like a fucking magician? If I make plans to serve Fruit Loops for dinner the night before, do I still get my ‘good wife’ award?

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

Hold the fucking phone. Did I get married or take a job in the hospitality industry? Touch up my make up? Put a ribbon in my hair? Are you kidding me? I would love to be “fresh-looking” but with 4 kids, including a toddler and an infant, anyone that crosses my path, including my husband, should take it as a compliment if I find the time to put on deodorant and a bra. Guess what, honey–the baby still isn’t sleeping through the night so you’re coming home to a work weary person too.
Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

Dance monkey, DANCE!

Bored? Suck it up, buttercup, or find something to do. I’ve been doing everything short of juggling knives to entertain these children all day, it isn’t my “duty” to entertain or amuse any adult unless I am being payrolled as a performer.
Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives. Run a dust cloth over the tables.

Trying to clean up, even just clear the clutter, with four kids on the loose is like trying to shovel the driveway in the middle of a blizzard. If Husband wanted an orderly home every night when he got home, he shouldn’t have kept knocking me up.
During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

For starters, no one would ever describe this household as a “haven of rest and order”. I mean, for fuck’s sake, we have four kids. Furthermore, I cater to the comfort of the 8 month old because when he ain’t happy, nobody’s happy. As a matter of fact, EVERYBODY caters to Number Four’s comfort. That’s it. Everyone else in the house can kiss my ass. You’re on your own. If the love of my life wants a fire, he can march his ass over to the fireplace and turn the lever. BAM! Fire. Unwind away. While you’re at it, rub my feet. PLEEEEEEAAASE!!
Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Encourage the children to be quiet.
If Husband wants to walk into a quiet house, he better go somewhere else.
Be happy to see him.

I assume this requires me to be VISIBLY happy to see him. Our dogs go nuts when he gets home. They are wagging their tails, whimpering and licking his feet and face. Should I act like them or will a simple, “hi” suffice?
Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

So, knee pads?
Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first – remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

No, they’re not.

By the way, this was the premise of one of the tips from the offending blog that really got under my skin. It pains me to know that there are so many women out there that truly believe that they are incapable of having any relevant thought or opinion when conversing with men, much less a spouse. It truly makes me sick.
Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.

If Number Three found a bottle of nail polish and used it to do a remodel of the kitchen cabinets, Husband is  going to hear about it the second he comes  home. If I’ve spent the day wading through a sea of vomit and shit, you can bet your ass that I will be bitching about it from the moment he steps through the door.
Don’t complain if he’s late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.

If he’s going to be late for work, all I need is a heads up via phone call or text. Wevs. If he stays out all night, he’s got a lot more than me complaining to worry about. I don’t care if he wants to go grab a drink or go watch football at a friend’s house. On more than one occasion, he has stayed at his friend’s house after a game or fight so as not to drive after drinking. HOWEVER, if I am not told of such plans and he were to just not come home all night, there will be hell to pay. I don’t give a flying fuck what happened at work. If he doesn’t call me or text me and just doesn’t come home, he better be in the muthafucking hospital because, if not, I will put him there.
Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or lie him down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

I’m going to hand him a kid and go take that piss I have been holding for four hours. If he wants a drink, he has arms and legs with which to get it his goddamn self. If he asks nicely, though, I’ll oblige. He’s a grown ass man. I don’t need to “lie him down in the bedroom”. What the absolute fuck? Do these women wipe their husband’s asses for them?
Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

Ladies: Give birth to children, don’t marry one. Unless he is disabled, he can take off his own damn shoes. I’m not saying it is degrading if you want to help your tired, sore or sick husband take off his shoes. I’ve helped Husband pull of his work boots. You just wont see me donning pearls, fluffing pillows and removing shoes, while speaking in a sweet, soothing voice, as part of any routine, especially not all at the same time.
Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

This was the gist of another bullet on that blog and was the other that really raised my hackles.  If I have cause to question Husband’s integrity or actions, you can bet that I will raise questions.

I absolutely CRINGE at the thought that there are women that truly believe that their worth is solely contingent upon someone’s opinion, subject to change on a whim if the wrong mood strikes. The fact that so many of these women have daughters that they are passing these “values” on to is beyond disturbing. The basic message for these girls is that if you want a man to recognize  value within her, she must demonstrate in all her thoughts and every action that she is utterly worthless.

A good wife always knows her place.

I’m going to smash my computer.

Here are a list of values I hope to instill in my daughter when she considers future relationships:

You, and you alone, determine your worth. Not your peers. Not some man.

Don’t be afraid or ashamed to demonstrate free thought or intelligence. Worthwhile men appreciate a woman with whom they can hold an intelligent conversation.

A worthwhile man will treat you as his social and intellectual equal. He will value your opinion and will view marriage as an equal partnership, not an imbalanced hierarchy.

A worthwhile man wont derive happiness from the subjugation of your own. In a healthy relationship, achieving happiness should be treated as a common goal.

Having a penis does not make one’s contribution to society any more relevant than your own.

It is not your “duty” to subjugate yourself to or serve anyone. Anything you do for your spouse should be carried out willingly of your own volition, not out of fear of reprise from your “master”.

You should respect your husband but never become convinced that you are unworthy of the same.

It’s okay to be in a shitty mood from time to time.

If you have a complaint, complain. Don’t be one of those people who do nothing BUT complain but never be fearful of airing your grievances.

If your husband goes MIA for an entire night or engages in any other brand of douchebag asshattery and asserts that you have no right to question him or his behavior, tell him to go pack his shit and kick fucking rocks. He can then decide, somewhere else, whether to beg for your forgiveness or continue to act like a caveman.

A good husband knows when to bring home wine.

When I Am Old and Gray

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The other day, my mother and I spent the day with my grandmother–my ‘Mammaw’. I’ve always been compared to her, physically and otherwise. We are both petite, at almost 5′ 2″, I am almost an inch taller than her and the rest of the family all tower over us at 5′ 5″ and above. In her younger days, Mammaw was quite the baton twirler, from what I am told.  Since baton twirling was out of vogue by the time I was in school, I shook my ass on the dance team. Close enough.  I began collecting shoes when I got my first job at the age of 15. My mother never understood my affinity for shoes and she said she never understood it, growing up, when it was her own mother that took the same delight in growing a shoe collection.  I suppose that would go hand in hand with the love for shopping that we share but that is a fairly common hobby.  Although, she seemed to share my shopping  mantra of “it’s easier to get forgiveness than permission”, a philosophy that, evidently, got her into trouble with my Pappaw in much the same way it did for me with Husband.

She is 87 years old and, as such, there are certain rules pertaining to proper etiquette–not hers, yours.  To my knowledge, these guidelines have not been put in writing until now and this may not be a complete list. Based on my observations over the years, when spending time with a Mammaw:

  • Even if she has just let out the longest, loudest burp that was so disgusting it caused you to throw up in your mouth a little, YOU HEARD NOTHING.
  • If the sound of the gas she is passing woke you up in the next room, even if you are almost completely certain that she just sharted—YOU HEARD NOTHING.

Act  natural. Continue what you were doing. My children have, on more than one occasion, broken this protocol. When everyone else has their heads down, pretending that they didn’t hear her backside trumpeting, and a child announces, “Ewwwww, Mammaw just farted”, do not laugh. Ignore the comment and redirect the child, IMMEDIATELY.

Above all, you can’t get mad. Ever. Even in such scenarios as:

  • You come home to find your kitchen looks like it has been readied for a rave foam party and the bubbles are still pouring out of your dishwasher. Turns out, she put liquid dish detergent in there, instead of dishWASHER detergent. You thank her for doing the dishes and then laugh and tell everyone about it when and where she won’t hear.
  • You realize her method for putting dishes away boils down to just finding a place that the dish fits.
  • On a daily basis, you think you are going crazy because you could SWEAR that you had put your coffee cup down right there but it is gone and you walk room to room, retracing your steps with a confused look on your face. You even talk to yourself: “I know I put that damn cup on that table. What the hell? Did I? Yes, of course I did. I guess I didn’t because it is gone. What the shit did I do with my damn coffee?” You walk into the kitchen and she has just finished rinsing it out. You may repeat the suggestion that if the coffee is hot she should leave it alone but understand that she will forget and this will happen again in about an hour. You must keep it with you or, if you must walk away, assign a babysitter.

You can only laugh with her, not at her. When my mother and I were visiting her last weekend, my mother came out of the restroom and asked my Mammaw where the hand towels were so she could dry her hands. My Mammaw searched around the bathroom, muttering about someone taking her hand towel off her sink and then said, “I guess we’ll have to make do” and reached into a drawer, pulled out an incontinence pad and handed it to my mother. I plan on implementing this hand drying method with my future guests by just sticking a few on the counter, next to the sink and replacing a couple of times a week. Less laundry for me!

She asked me seven times in seven minutes how old Number Four was and, as protocol dictates, I answered her each time like it was the first time she’d asked. I’d add to that all the times she has forgotten my name over the years but, to be fair, she has like 12 or 13 grandchildren and probably 20 great-grandchildren. We are a family of MAY-JAH breeders. I’ve had times when I need to yell at my own kids and I call them every other child’s name and even gone down the list of dog’s names, so I can’t even rib her about that one because, on top of having a hundred names to remember, she has the whole onset of dementia. The fact that she gets my name right at all, much less more than half of the time, earns her a gold star.

 

Romance Isn’t Dead

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My husband and I have been together for 11 years and have managed this in spite of our four children. At the end of the day, it is all about keeping the romance alive. You have to avoid taking each other for granted and keep the home fires burning.

When my husband wants to be romantic, you think he buys me flowers or surprises me with jewelry? My husband is too romantic to waste our time and money on those tired clichés. He puts real thought into how to woo me and gets creative. One of his signature romantic overtures is to wait until I am leaning over to empty the dishwasher and to come up behind me and start humping me from behind. That makes me melt.

Another thing, he is always focused on me and my well being and health. For instance, if I tell him that my throat hurts, he doesn’t hesitate to inform me that semen will make me feel better and to offer me a dose of the cure. NO STRINGS ATTACHED. Or if I complain about being fatigued, he immediately concerns himself with my protein intake and, again, doesn’t hesitate to offer the opportunity to get my “protein injection”. He is nothing if not a giver.

Our fourth child just turned one month old and he is always checking on me from work. Just the other day he sent me this text:

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Seriously, I love that man. People don’t get our senses of humor most of the time but it is what makes me love him so much. He cracks me up. Making me laugh is the best romantic gesture he can make. Okay, aside from that wedding band upgrade I have been bringing up for the past year, making me laugh is the second best gesture.

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My Ransom Letter

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Dear Family,

I am running away.  It’s not you, it’s me.

Okay, that is an outright lie.  It is not me, it is you.  I am not sure how long I will be gone.  Maybe an hour, maybe longer.  Really, I have decided that the answer to that all depends on you.  I am ransoming myself.

Here are my demands for the children:

  • If you look on the back of the toilet, you will notice this shiny handle.  This may come as a shock but that handle is NOT just decorative.  If you push down on it, the toilet water and anything you deposited within will swirl around the bowl and disappear down that hole at the bottom.  If you are going to drop the kids off at the pool, for the love of Pinot, flush the damn toilet!!  Just push that magic handle and it will all go away and then I won’t be forced to stifle my gag reflex every. single. time I walk into the bathroom.
  •   I know this is going to sound like crazy talk but I just want you to try to hear me out and give it a shot–stop treating the entire house like it is your personal trash can.  I am not sure if you guys just wouldn’t care if we lived in filth and squalor or if you are convinced that there is some magic maid fairy that follows you all around and picks up after you.  Whatever the case may be, you are wrong.  There is no magical force picking up the trail of shit you leave in your wake, it is me.  Even if you don’t, I do happen to wish to avoid living in a house that looks like it could appear on an episode of “Hoarders”.  CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES!
  • Stop expecting me to referee your arguments every 10 minutes.  I don’t give a rat’s ass if you were playing school and Sam isn’t doing his pretend homework assignment.  I could not care less if, in the course of pretending to camp, Macey put out the imaginary fire when you were roasting an invisible marshmallow.  You want to know how I am going to solve these issues?  I am going to send you to your rooms and drink mass quantities of wine.  It won’t solve your problem but it sure works as one hell of a band-aid for me.
  • Stop touching the television screen.  I am tired of cleaning peanut butter fingerprints off of the flat screen because Super Why asked you where the “super letters” were and you felt you had to touch them directly or else he wouldn’t know where you were pointing.  The next time I see you touch the television screen, I am going to take your arm off and beat you with the wet end.  Are we clear?
  • You are more than welcome to lift a finger and clean shit up without me telling you to do so.  Take a little initiative.
  • I don’t know where the confusion began but it is time to clear this up, your bedroom is limited to the four walls behind your door.  I did not allot any extra “spillover” space for you outside of your actual bedroom.  If your room becomes too cluttered because you have thrown all your laundry into a big pile, along with papers, art supplies, shoes, books, etc and have discovered that, as a result, you don’t have anywhere to put your backpack, more laundry, toys, etc, you do NOT have permission to extend the perimeter of your space to the hallway and/or living room.  Here is a novel idea:  CLEAN YOUR ROOM!!
  • Pushing things in your closet, does NOT constitute cleaning your room.

My demands for my husband:

  • Stop snoring.  At this point, I don’t care what it takes.  If they say that removing your left leg would solve the issue, you should go through with the procedure.  My happiness depends upon it and, as you know, your happiness is contingent upon my happiness.  I used to have a lot of fun holding your nose and watching you gasp for air after a few seconds but the novelty has worn off.  Fix it.
  • Stop putting shit on top of the refrigerator.  Seriously.  It is not your storage shelf.  You are more than welcome to put your keys and wallet in a drawer or in the bedroom.  Stop moving my decorations aside for these things and your loose change.  Just because I can’t reach it, it does not become acceptable.
  • I have pushed a baby out of my vagina and had two others (and another in the near future) surgically removed from my abdomen.  In return, I ask that you take out the trash when it is full without me asking.
  • Setting folded laundry on top of the dresser does not constitute putting laundry away.
  • You fold towels incorrectly.  Do it my way.  They should look almost like a terry cloth burrito, not a messy square.

    This is how towels look when folded correctly.

    This is how you fold them and it is wrong.

  • Maintain a constant inventory of Dr. Pepper and Nutella in our home.

If my demands are met, not only will I  come home but I won’t be such a bitch all the time.

Hope to see you soon.

Say It to Me, Not My Kids

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If you have a child, you have experienced this.  It doesn’t matter if your child is 5 years old or 5 hours old.  Getting unsolicited advice, in and of itself, is, at minimum, annoying.  When, however, people try to disguise parenting critiques and advice as innocent conversations with my children, it makes me want to kick puppies.  First of all, did I accidentally put on my cone-shaped hat with the word “DUNCE” stenciled down the front or did you forget to wear yours?  When we were in the grocery store check out line and you looked at my infant son and said to him, in that annoying baby talk voice, “you should tell your mommy that you need to be wearing a hat”, are you so stupid that you expect him to relay this message to me or do you think that I am too stupid to recognize that you are critiquing me as a mother?

The thing is, this happens all the time.  Truth be told, my own mother does it.  (Don’t look so indignant, Mom.  You know you do it.  I love you anyways but, seriously, cut that shit out.)  Where strangers get off, though, dishing out parenting advice and criticism in general to people minding their own business, I will never know.  Why there are those that think it is acceptable if the criticism is delivered to children, in front of parents, is a total mystery.

For starters, haven’t these jackasses ever heard of how most parents try to teach their children NOT TO TALK TO STRANGERS?  Yet, it seems every time I take my kids anywhere, strangers are trying to strike up conversations with them.  Honestly, I don’t really mind it, within reason.  What has always shocked me, though, is how many strangers have offered my children CANDY!  Two major rules of thumb: Don’t talk to strangers and don’t take candy from strangers, being broken by adults and right in front of my face.  No, lady!  You can keep your candy!  And not just because I fear my 11 month old would choke to death on that peppermint but also because if my kid needs a snack, I am not going to go looking for a handout from some stranger in the auto shop waiting area.

A little insight: my 2-year-old could not care less about what his hair looks like.  Even if he gave a shit, he is incapable of transporting himself to or scheduling a hair appointment.  I am his mother and his father and I have decided that we think his little, long bowl cut is absofuckinglutely adorable.  So, the next time you are taking my order at Denny’s and the urge overtakes you to lean over and say to my toddler, “Oh my!  When are you going to get your hair cut”, don’t get upset when I shank you.

You cannot tell me that this is not one of the cutest kids you have ever seen in your life.

The next time you are standing in the checkout line and you tell my daughter, “Your mommy shouldn’t let you bite your nails or you’ll get worms”, don’t be surprised when I turn to your husband, standing next to you, and say “Your wife should mind her own damn business or she is gonna get her ass kicked in Wal-Mart.”

If you think my kid needs a nap, chances are I am aware that he needs a damn nap.  Don’t talk to my kid to inform him that his mommy needs to get him home for a nap.  He will adamantly disagree and now you have made the next five minutes of my life a little more of a hell because you said the “n” word to his face and he is going to express his opposition to your suggestion in the form of a Level II meltdown.  You say it again, and it escalates to a Level IV/Code Red and I will be forced to respond violently.  You just better hope it is not my nap time when you pull this shit. 

If it bothers you that my 5-year-old opted out of socks with his tennis shoes, keep it to yourself.  If you say to him in a “wittle” voice with “wittle” words that his mommy should go get him some socks, I am going to give you a “wittle” kick in the taco.

Mind your own business, people.  You can go have your own kids and be a perfect parent and raise perfect kids.  Please don’t interrupt me while I am busy screwing mine up completely with long hair and stinky shoes. 

Dear Mom: I Get it Now

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I remember, as a child, my mother saying things like, “Can’t I just eat my own food/drink my own drink”?  I remember her saying, “Can’t I just have one minute to myself”?  Growing up, I just thought my mom was being a selfish asshole. After all, I just wanted a drink or a bite!   Now that I am a mother, though, I understand.  Completely.

I am convinced that I could prepare a four course meal of my children’s favorite foods, like chicken nuggets, mashed potatoes, macaroni  and chocolate chip cookies with ice cream on top, then make myself a dog shit sandwich and they would turn their noses up at their plates and beg for a share of what was on mine.  I don’t remember what it is like to not have to share my food or drink.  If I try to refuse to share, you would think I had just told my children that I was going to Disneyworld without them.  The moment the food hits the plate, I hear, “I want a bite”.  The minute I stop filling my glass, I hear “I want a sip”.  For the love of vodka, I don’t want to share anymore!

I look back now and realize other things I took for granted before becoming a mother.  I never really appreciated things like going to the bathroom alone.  Now, every time I go to the bathroom, I have a captive audience.  It never fails that there is some urgent need the moment I need to pee.  Sometimes, it is just a bout of separation anxiety that compels my child to reunite with me seconds after I leave the room.  Maybe they are checking on me to make sure I am not slipping out the window.  Other times, they suddenly have one or one hundred questions and/or observations that simply cannot wait until I am finished relieving myself.

“Who is your favorite?”

“Do you like green or blue?”

“Where is your penis?”

“Your butt looks big.”

If you have a fragile self-esteem, I suggest you avoid parenthood.

Even when I am just sitting on the couch, watching television, I feel like a mother possum.  My boys, especially, are right on top of me.  Number three is on my lap, laid back against my huge pregnant belly, only putting more pressure on my teeny tiny bladder.  Number two is huddled up to me, his arms flung across me and holding on tight.  At this point in my pregnancy, I barely remember what feeling comfortable means.  Add a couple of layers of little people on top of the one kicking my ass from the inside and I am practically claustrophobic.  Killing a puppy in front of them would get me the same reaction I get when I kiss their heads and affectionately tell them, “I love you so much.  Now, get the hell off of me before I throw you off of me.”  I just don’t get it.

If they aren’t right on top of me, they are calling me from across the house.  “MOM”!  “MOM”! “MOM”!  Then, when I kindly reply, “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT”?  They seem indignant as they tell me, “nevermind”.  What the hell do they want from me?  I answered you, didn’t I?  Unless it is an emergency, do NOT yell across the house.

I’m sorry, Mom.  I get it now, though.  I get it.

Things No One Told You About Pregnancy

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All I ever heard, prior to having children, was that pregnancy was miraculous/beautiful/amazing.   Then I got pregnant and was forced to discover, all on my own, that it was all a cruel trick–an obvious line of bullshit that proved, once again, that misery loves company.  I’m going to lay it all out for you.  This is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth!

  1. “Morning sickness”- This could strike at any hour of the day.  Some women won’t experience it, at all.  Others will feel a wave of nausea or throw up once.  Others will spend all day, every day, with their heads hung over the same porcelain bowl that accommodates various asses throughout the day. 
  2. Kiss those pretty pink areolas buh-bye!  Your nipples are getting a makeover!  Hope you like brown.
  3. While I am on the subject, you should also know that they are going to get a lot bigger too.  Those pretty little, dainty nipples you were previously sporting are now going to be visible from space.
  4. Stretch marks can happen at any given time during pregnancy.  I know so many women that have said, in the seventh or eighth month of pregnancy, that they felt lucky to get away with no stretch marks.  Then the stretch mark fairy comes to visit.  Other women think that they managed to get through pregnancy stretch mark free, only to give birth and discover that the underside of their belly (the part they couldn’t see) looked like they had been bull whipped.  You can slather your belly and ass in all the cocoa butter and vitamin E that your little heart desires.  It won’t keep you from getting stretch marks.  If you don’t get stretch marks, you can thank genetics.  If you tell me about how you don’t have any stretch marks, I will kick you in the taco.
  5. Pregnancy hormones can make you feel like you are going crazy.  You will cry, at least once (probably more), for no discernible reason.  I have been resigned to ripping out my husband’s jugular with my bare hands because he didn’t take out the trash before leaving for work.  In a matter of a second and a half, I can go from laughing and feeling great and then, without warning, I want to burst into tears and half the time I don’t know why I am crying.
  6. Pregnesia- Forgetful doesn’t begin to describe what pregnancy does to your brain.  Last week, I went to the grocery store to pick up a few items for some snacks, as I was having a few friends over.  I paid for my groceries, walked out to my car, loaded up my two-year old and headed home.  I didn’t even realize for at least another half hour that I had not brought a single grocery home with me.  Nope.  I had loaded up my toddler and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving my bags in the grocery cart.
  7. You are probably going to pee in your pants, at least once.  I promise.  Whether it is because you laughed hard, sneezed or cough, rest assured, you are going to end up with piss in your pants at some point.  Don’t worry, most women regain full bladder control.  With my second pregnancy, I may or may not have gone to L&D, convinced my water had broken, only to be informed by the doctor that I had just peed on myself.  Ahhhh, memories.
  8. Your vagina may stop bleeding for nine months but your facial orifices are going to start!  The extra blood volume necessary to support you and your baby is going to cause some fun stuff!  My nose, for instance, bleeds at the drop of a hat.  In the morning, in the evening, in the middle of the night; at any given time, blood just starts pouring out of my nose. It is best to also be prepared for all the blood you will see every time you brush your teeth.  Every time I finish brushing, it looks like I slaughtered a small animal in my sink.  It is soooo sexy.
  9. I admit, feeling your baby move inside of you for the first time is indescribable.  It is amazing.  Then they get bigger and stronger and they get lower.  There is nothing like walking through the store and suddenly being paralyzed for a split second because your precious gift from heaven just gave your cervix a head butt.  It is like getting shocked with 5oo volts of electricity in your vagina.
  10. You gain weight everywhere.  Even if it is only due to temporary bouts of water retention, you are most likely going to experience a day or two of swollen sausage fingers and cankles. 

The “joys” of pregnancy, for me, are fairly few and far between.  I hate being pregnant, truth be told.  I spend the majority of pregnancy being absolutely miserable.  Now, before you get all sanctimonious on me, let me finish!  I am not a fan of being pregnant but, considering the fact that I am doing it for the FOURTH TIME, I obviously feel that the end justifies the means.

Are there any things that you wish you had been told about being pregnant?

What NOT to Say

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I was pregnant with Number 2 and, during an ultrasound, was stunned to be told that I was carrying twins!  A day later,  I was told it as identical twins.  Over the next couple of weeks, I went from surprise to absolute excitement.  I was picking out names, planning out different nurseries in my head, trying to figure out how to afford two of everything and picturing our lives with twins.   Then, at the beginning of the second trimester, it was discovered that one of the twins no longer had a heartbeat.  For a few days, I convinced myself that it was a mistake and that I would go back to the doctor and they would see the heartbeat and admit they were wrong.  Needless to say, that didn’t happen.  I had lost one of my babies.  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.  Unfortunately, well-meaning friends and family only made it worse with their attempts to be comforting.  Today, I am fine.  Honestly, the only time I am reminded of that time is when friends and loved ones reveal or discuss their own loss(es).  This has all inspired me to try to get the word out of things NOT to say to a woman who has experienced miscarriage(s).

  • When I lost one of my twins, one of the things people would say to me was, “At least you still have one”.  Let me explain to you why this is just a shitty thing to say:  Most mothers carrying multiples don’t view the babies they are carrying as “spare tires” or expendable.  A loss is a loss.
  • “It is just God/nature’s way of letting you know that something was wrong.”-  Wrong with her or wrong with the baby?  That is the unanswered question that will plague her.  Which answer would comfort her more?
  • “At least you know that you can get pregnant!”- Well, what a frickin’ relief.  I would bet dollars to donuts that she is more upset about the fact that she didn’t STAY pregnant, though.  Think.
  • “You can try again and have another.”- She wanted the baby she lost.  Don’t talk about her child like it is a household item that can simply be replaced.
  • “At least you know you have an angel in heaven.”-I promise you, she would rather be holding her angel in her arms.

    How would this sympathy card be considered comforting?

If you are faced with a loved one that is struggling with a loss, just shut your mouth and listen.  Hug her.  If she wants to cry, let her cry.  “If you want to say something:

  • “I’m here for you.”- So simple but it means so much.
  • “I know how much you wanted this baby.”- Acknowledging that her loss is meaningful and her grief is valid will go a long way.
  • “I don’t know what to say.”- This is the best thing to say when you don’t know what to say.  Don’t try to make her feel better with any of the above sentiments.  Admitting your at a loss for words is okay.  Just let her know that you are willing to listen to her.
  • “How are you doing?”- If you don’t know, just ask.  Let her tell you where she is emotionally.

When I lost Number 2′s twin, I cut myself off from everyone but my mother for a couple of weeks.  It wasn’t because I remained so consumed with grief that I could no longer interact socially.  It was because I couldn’t take one more person trying to offer me “comfort” in their attempts to be profound.   I have friends and relatives that have experienced loss, even multiple losses resulting from diagnosed infertility.  It turns out, I am not just some asshole who gets pissed or annoyed at people trying to make me feel better.  No.  It turns out, being well-intentioned doesn’t negate being insensitive for most other women mourning the loss of a child either.

Just some food for thought, for anyone that wants to actually be a positive presence for a woman/couple grieving the loss of a pregnancy.

For those that have experienced a loss, what are some of the most jaw dropping comments that were said to you?

Things You Should Never Say to a Pregnant Woman

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I know I have touched on this before but it bears repeating.  Sometimes I have to wonder if some people are just complete and total idiots or if they are just complete and total assholes.  The things people say, in general, often baffles me but the things people say to a pregnant woman are mind-boggling.  Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t limited to the general public or even friends and family; the things my husband says often make me want to kick him square in the coin purses.  Grab a pen a pad, class.  You need to take notes.

  1. Are you having twins? – Gee, thanks!  I was under the mistaken impression that my weight gain wasn’t abnormal.  Now, thanks to you, I realize that my ass has grown at an alarming rate and that the only logical explanation that you can fathom is multiples.
  2. Are you SURE you’re not having twins? Maybe they missed one! – Look, asshole, I told you that I had an ultrasound and there was only one heartbeat and only one fetus.  Thanks to you, I am fully aware that I am a certifiable heifer but it is NOT because there is a hidden twin in my uterus, it is because I ate an entire pan of brownies and washed it down with chocolate chip cookies stuffed with Oreos.  HAPPY NOW?!?!
  3. You are getting HUGE! - Why is it okay to say this to a pregnant woman?  Would any of you non-pregnant people appreciate this being said to you?  Why do you think that just because I am pregnant that I should be okay with, much less flattered or excited by, having my weight thrown in my face every other day?
  4. I HATE that name. - I really don’t give a fuck.  Have your own baby and name it whatever the fuck you want.  Also, don’t offer me a list of acceptable alternatives.  I don’t care if you hate the name I have chosen and, NO, I don’t want to pick Joseph instead because you love Joseph.  If you want to name your baby Tutu Fairydust, I could not give less of a fuck.
  5. You’re not supposed to be drinking that Dr. Pepper- Kiss my ass.  I will drink whatever the fuck I want.  Whether I want to be reasonable and drink a Dr. Pepper every day or if I want to drink a 12 pack a day, it is none of your fucking business.  Cram it.
  6. Haven’t you had that baby yet? - Asking this question should be grounds for justifiable homicide.  If I had the baby, would I still be pregnant, dumbass?  Do you think I gave birth and crammed the baby back into my vagina because being kicked, having back aches, not being able to breathe, not being able to sleep, having swollen feet and fingers, sweating bullets when it is 50 degrees and having everyone express surprise at how fat your ass is getting is so much fucking fun?
  7. Four kids?!? That is going to be hard! - No shit, Sherlock.  Here I was thinking that the reason three was hard was because of the odd number.  My theory is that with three, one of them is the third wheel and THAT is the reason I have to do so much parenting.  Now that I am adding a fourth, the numbers will be even and they will pair off and take care of each other and I can get on with my life.
  8. How are you feeling? - Like complete and total shit, that’s how I am feeling.  I am fat.  I am waddling.  My legs hurt.  My feet are swelling.  I have to pee every 34.7 seconds.  I can’t sleep.  I can barely breathe.  I am beyond exhausted.   My back hurts.  My feet hurt.  A tiny human is beating the hell out of me from the inside.  I AM MISERABLE.  Most likely, however, I am just going to tell you “I’m fine” because people expect you to blow sunshine and rainbows up their skirts and tell you about the magical wonders of pregnancy.
  9. Don’t you just love being pregnant? - Brace yourself:  No.  Actually, I do not enjoy pregnancy at all.  I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the end result but I do not enjoy being pregnant.  I completely understand that there are countless women that have struggled with infertility and/or experienced losses (I have several friends that fall under those umbrellas) but I don’t see why that means that I have to learn to love being sick, being swollen, being sore, being fatigued, as well as the additional symptoms I have experienced as a result of having Lupus and Secondary Sjogren’s, like coughing up blood, severe anemia, preterm labor and all the medications that come with that, kidney infections, etc.  Suck it.

The following are things and expectant father should NEVER say to his pregnant wife/girlfriend:

    1. Are you really going to eat another cookie/brownie/bowl of ice cream? - Why don’t you just call her a fat bitch and start mooing?  If you value your life, you will offer to get her that sixth brownie that she is eyeballing.
    2. My back is killing me. - You really are barking up the wrong fucking tree.  You really don’t know the meaning of discomfort until you have experienced the third trimester of pregnancy.  You will be hard pressed getting any ounce of sympathy from me.  Your aching back can be fixed with a little pain pill.  My achy back requires that I eject a tiny human from my body and I don’t get to pick when that happens.
    3. Why are you so tired? – You really want to pull at that thread?  I can tell you exactly why, in great detail, if you want to know.  Better yet, why don’t I wake you up every time I wake up to pee or because the baby kicked too hard or because I got a Charlie horse.  Let me know how well rested you feel.
    4. You should get more sleep. - Well, that is a genius fucking idea!  Why didn’t I think of that?
    5. Why are you being such a bitch? - Run.  Run for your life.  Best case scenario, she is going to launch into a verbal tirade, the likes of which you have never seen; giving new meaning to “bitch”.  Worst case scenario, you are going to die.
    6. (Insert name) looks GREAT for having three kids! – OH NO YOU DIH-ENT!!  Shit like that will get you killed when I am not pregnant.
    7. What did you make for dinner? - Well, I made myself a brownie hot fudge sundae.  You can have whatever you want.

Other useful tips: