Tag Archives: perfect

Dang, Anything Else?

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I’m hungry!  I’m not hungry!  I’m tired!  I’m not tired!  I’m hot!  I’m cold!  Pick me up!  Put me down!  Fix me some food!  I’m thirsty!  I want ketchup!  I didn’t like it because it had ketchup on it!  I need to potty!  I already pottied!  I peed in my pants!

BREATHE!  1…2…3…4…5…fuck this counting shit.  It only takes me 3.5 seconds to open a bottle of wine.

These three curtain climbers can be the source of my greatest joy and my greatest stress.   I know that there are those sanctimonious martyr mom bitches that say “Children are gifts from heaven.  I like to spend every waking second with my children and any mother that takes two seconds to herself is selfish and she should have thought about that before she had kids.”.  Well, to her, I say: fuck the fuck off.  I love my kids but I don’t have to like my kids 24/7.  Any parent that says they do is either A) Lying or B) Full of shit.  You see, I don’t think admitting that makes me a bad mother.  I would give my life for any of my children and there are days when I feel like my children are trying to kill me themselves, with a plan they have secretly concocted to make my fucking head explode.

My husband works out, pretty much everyday.  Whether he runs or goes to the gym, that is his daily time to blow off some steam.  For some reason, some group of uptight bitches got together and decided that squeezing a kid out of your vagina suddenly rendered women impervious to stress.  These are the same bitches that decided that admitting that being a mother was hard or a mother needing her own personal time out was a sign of failure.  They got the word out and it spread quickly.  Women are so fucking afraid to admit that they aren’t perfect mothers or that they don’t ever feel overwhelmed or that they want to be able to have a little time to themselves.  Well, guess what?  I’m not.  At times, my kids make me want to stand in the middle of the street and scream a steady stream of expletives.  I want to pull my damn hair out!  I think to myself, “I wonder why kennels for kids never caught on?”.  So, I make sure that I get my own “time outs”, at least once or twice a week.  If that means that one or a few of my friends gather on my patio or on one of their patios, as God as our witness, we are going to gather, dammit!  And, there will be wine!  Oh yes!  There will be wine.  It is our therapy.  We bitch and vent and then we end up laughing about all those things that we thought were going to push us over the edge a few hours earlier.  Thankfully, I have surrounded myself with a group of friends that are equally as honest about how imperfect they are as mothers.  There isn’t any judgment, just wine.  You have to have wine! 

I jokingly tell my husband that I am going to the gym when I have plans for a girls’ night in.  Becoming a mother doesn’t make your needs suddenly irrelevant.  It doesn’t mean that you are no longer entitled to or in need of some personal time.  If anything, it makes it even more necessary.  Adults need to interact with adults.  Adults need to have conversations  in which the words Caillou, Sprout, poopy diaper and Toy Story are not brought up.   Adults need to have times when they are not required to break up fights between preschoolers.  Adults need to have friends to drink wine and bitch with because drinking alone is frowned upon.

If you want to hole up in your home and immerse yourself only in your children and their interests and topics of conversation, be my guest.  My money is on your future admission into a mental hospital. Good luck with that.

I love my bitches.

Can’t Talk to a Psycho Like a Normal Human Being

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Have you recently found yourself saddled with a knocked up wife, girlfriend, sister or friend?  Men:  If you put the baby in there, you have  no one to blame but yourself.  You didn’t talk her into the abortion.  Suck it up, buttercup.  You pulled the trigger, you finish the race.   Here are some tips and warning signs to help you get through these nine months alive.

You may ask yourself, “what the fuck is her problem?”.  Let me tell you a few of her problems:

  • She has, most likely, been forced to disregard the slightest degree of germaphobia the moment her body decided to reject the Taco Supreme with extra sour cream it had been screaming for only moments earlier, forcing her to embrace and shove her head into a receptacle that has hosted almost as many asses in its career as Richard Simmons in his.
  • Do you enjoy being stabbed repeatedly in the pubic area?  If so, you would LOVE round ligament pain.
  • Not having a period is one of the touted benefits of pregnancy.  Don’t put those tampons in storage just yet, you can still find a use for them now that your nose is going to be the one with a period!  If you are like me, it will be almost daily!!
  • Weight gain!  Because nothing says “I’m bringing sexy back” like elastic waistbands.

If you are interacting with a pregnant woman, don’t ever assume you are safe.  Always consider her armed and dangerous.  Even if the only weapon in her arsenal are the countless hormones surging through her body, be afraid.  Be very afraid.  Signs you should abandon your mission and run:

  • Tears.  Even if it just looks like her eyes might be watering, take no chances.  Run.
  • She suddenly stops talking or responding to you and only stares, even if she is being directly addressed or questioned.
  • Her only response or contribution to the conversation is a flat “whatever.”.
  • Her stomach growls.

Dads:  Are you feeling neglected?  Left out?  Have you tried to give her the business only to find she has closed up the shop?  Maybe she wants the business but the realization that her vagina is soon going to transport a tiny, screaming human larvae into the world has rendered you impotent.  Either way, you can revive your sex life.

Are you being rejected?  You are going to have to play a little hardball but, remember, all is fair in love and war.  You have to make her want you to want her and that is going to mean you have to hit her in the ego.  It is kind of like high school:

  • Strategically but noticeably  place stretch mark cream amongst her beauty supplies.
  • When you both get in bed, pull out the latest issue of “Hotties with Vacant Uteri” and your favorite lotion and go to work.  If she interrupts, take your tools into another room and tell her that she is spoiling the moment.
  • Look at older photos and compliment her pre-pregnancy hips.

If the problem is that you can’t get the soldier to salute, there are a couple of solutions:

  • Admit that you are gay.  I mean, seriously.  Pregnant or not, most men won’t turn down an available vagina.  Not to mention, her boobs have, at least, doubled in size.  That is nature’s distraction.  If this is the case, get her to pull her hair up in a baseball cap and roll her over.
  • Medicine

You are welcome.  This could end up being another series.

How to be a good parent with good kids:

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  • Use your resources.  The TV, for instance, is better and cheaper than a nanny.  You turn it on, it keeps the kids quiet and occupied and, in most cases, it is even teaching them something.  Then, at the end of the day, you don’t have to hear the television tell you about where you are falling short as a parent. 
  • There is nothing wrong with a little healthy competition.  Make a ranking chart and put on the refrigerator.  You can call it the “Mommy’s Favorite Board” or something to that effect.  At the beginning of every day, gather the children around and rank them from top to bottom on the chart.  Explain that the top spot is mommy’s favorite and go on to explain why/how they made that position (they did this favor, they didn’t talk back, etc).  Let all the children know that this order can change at any moment, without notice.  Make sure to take any reason to go switch the order and appoint a new favorite.  This is even more effective if the favorite gets some sort of privilege.  It really gets the kids in line.  Sure, the experts will rag on and on about damaging their self esteem, long term damage and blah, blah, blah but fuck that noise.  If they maintain the “mommy’s favorite” position, their self esteem will be fine.  It is a long term goal to teach them to strive for along with the short term reward.
  • Drink.  If you haven’t already, after having children is a good time to take up drinking.  Don’t listen to these fuckwit sanctimommies that go on and on about it being irresponsible or that the minute your piss makes the line on the magic plastic stick, you are no longer allowed to be remotely selfish.  I like my “me time” and I like it a lot better when there is a bottle of wine to keep me company.  You thought alcohol was important the day after you turned 21?  It is a requirement of a good parent.  They should hand out bottles of wine and liquor to parents in the hospital. 
  • Force your children to subscribe to gender stereotypes from birth.  Do not let little boys like pink or even touch your purse or a doll, regardless of whether he is 6 months or 6 years old.  If he does any of the above, he will most likely grow up and want to fondle and marry other boys.  If he shows interest in a toy kitchen, for instance, slap his hand, tell him that cooking is woman’s work and make him look at a Playboy magazine, while holding a truck in one hand and a hunting rifle in the other.  If your daughter wants to play with her brother’s toy tool set and you let her, you might as well go buy her a wallet chain and a Melissa Etheridge album.
  • Do not talk to children about sex.  That is sick and inappropriate and it should never be discussed.  If your children express any curiosity or ask questions regarding sex, tell them that sex is bad and thinking about sex, talking about sex or having sex before marriage is a one way ticket to hell.  Discussion over.  
  • If your children yell at you or talk back or are disrespectful in general, buy them something and apologize for angering them. If you tell your child to clean his/her room and he/she screams back “NO!  Fuck you, mom!  You clean my fucking room!  I hate you!”.  Obviously, you have done something to upset or offend your precious angel and it must be resolved.  In order to make amends, you should clean his/her room and/or go buy a present for your disgruntled child/teen and beg for forgiveness.  This can also apply to incidents when teacher call to discuss your child’s behavior.  You know that bitch probably has a vendetta against your precious little baby and/or is jealous of you and is taking it out on him/her.  When she tells you that little Junior told her to shove her book up her ass, you make sure and ask her what she has against your child and what she did to provoke his/her response.

This is parenting, people, not rocket science.  Now, go have a drink.

Time out or a wooden stake?

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He is so adorable and so chubby and sweet looking, I never saw this coming.  He runs over, staring at you with his big brown eyes, and at the last minute he opens his mouth and sinks in those teeth.  Yes.  It is true.  I can barely say it out loud but here goes:   My youngest child has OBVIOUSLY turned into a vampire.  At the slightest provocation, he is willing to sink his teeth into any exposed patch of flesh to satisfy his thirst for blood.

I have been doing some research, since coming to terms with my son’s transformation into one of hell’s minions but the information is conflicting.  One researcher says that vampires cannot go out in daylight or they will spontaneously combust or something similar, while another says that vampires can, in fact, go into the sunlight and their skin will sparkle as if they had their entire body vagazzled.  So, I am confused.  My son can go out into the sunlight without bursting into flames but he does not look like a fairy that was rolled around in a truckload of glitter, either.  Do you think he might have some form of vampire eczema that could explain this or do I accept the other research that says that the glitter skin is bullshit?

Most of the research tends to agree that vampires possess some degree of powers and some research indicates that they can hypnotize or “glamour” their victims.  He DOES possess this ability.  He can look at you and you will believe that he is going to approach you and hug you or kiss you and then, suddenly, he is going in for the kill!  I need to create some sort of warning system so that unsuspecting innocents can be made aware that he is a demon cleverly disguised as a little, chubby angel.  Don’t be fooled.
I have tried to time out and he continues to try to make meals of the family.  I am conducting further research on how to remedy or tame him.  I would prefer to consider staking as an absolute last resort.

You say I’m a bitch like it’s a bad thing.

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If you want to offend or upset me, calling me a bitch will not accomplish that mission.  The countless times I have been called a bitch have typically been the result of me refusing to permit myself to be subjugated.  Of course, it has also been a term of endearment exchanged between me and my friends, aka “my bitches”, all of whom I adore.  There have been a number of times that my bitches and I have been called “bitches”, collectively, for refusing to acquiesce to the persistent advances from “gentlemen” callers (a term I use very loosely) when enjoying a night out.  Don’t get me wrong, guys, there is nothing sexier than a 40-year-old man, with tufts of back hair protruding from the neckline of your popped up polo collar, stumbling over to a table of women that are minding their own business, enthralled in conversation with one another, and laying such epic lines as “I’m having sex with you tonight, you might as well be there to enjoy it.” or “Roses are red, violets are blue, I suck at poems, nice tits.”, as you attempt to “accidentally” rub the ass nearest to you.   I realize that when exuding such blatant charms, it can come as a shock when every woman within earshot doesn’t drop her panties and throw them directly at you, in a desperate bid to win your undivided attention.   It is completely understandable that you would be taken aback when your chivalrous overtures are met with nothing but total indignation.  The only kinds of women that would fail to recognize the prize that stands before them are BITCHES.

You would think that I would relish every moment of being underestimated and assumed to be unintelligent because I have boobs and a vagina and am not completely hideous.  You might think I even go the extra mile to ensure that no one thinks me capable of intellectual thought by dying my hair blond, wearing makeup and developing an affinity for shoes that inspire imagery of brass poles on poorly lit stages.  I don’t care if you want to assume that I have the IQ of a kitchen sponge but don’t get pissed at start name calling when you discover that I, in fact, am a bit smarter than the average kitchen sponge.  Not much, mind you, but enough to make you think twice about making snap judgments.

I know that some women find it completely flattering, if not a complete turn on,  when taking the dance floor with a girlfriend or two, shaking her ass to the blaring booty chatter bass, to find herself being groped and rubbed on in a surprise dance floor attack from behind.  There really is nothing hotter than a half drunk stranger, who took the time to marinate in an entire bottle of cologne, who expresses his interest in getting to know you better by grabbing you by the waist and firmly gyrating his crotch against your ass (or back, depending on the height difference).  Now she has gone from dancing and enjoying the night with friends, to trying to pry your hands from her waist, while maintaining her balance because you have prioritized rubbing one out on her backside over staying upright and are willing to take her down with you if your balance fails before your mission is complete.  For some odd reason, if she manages to pry herself free and declines to permit you to finish using her ass as a masturbation tool, she is a bitch.  Look in the mirror, asshole.  What does that make you?

Other instances in which I have been considered “bitchy”:

If I am forced to call the customer service department to lodge a complaint, rest assured, I am going to get whatever credit or free shit I am seeking.

If you give me unsolicited advice, it is a possibility.

If you say something shitty to or about my children.  In that case, if I am only bitchy, consider yourself lucky.

If you talk shit about my mother, my sister or any of my friends.  *I* can talk shit about all of the above.  You are only allowed to listen and nod your head, not contribute.

If you state opinions that demonstrate complete ignorance, especially those of a political nature.  If you don’t know what you are talking about, shut the fuck up.  If you are a complete bigot, go crawl under a rock.  I have no tolerance for intolerance.

If being a “bitch” means I won’t roll over, lower my standards or pretend to be a fucking idiot to appease someone else, someone make me a fucking name tag.

The nanny lives with us.

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Perfect parents are so fucking annoying.  When they are around, you can rest assured that you will hear what you are doing wrong and/or how they would handle the situation differently and/or wouldn’t permit such a thing with their children.  They have an answer for every parenting dilemma and a critique of every action and interaction that occurs or could occur with children.  There is just one problem with these perfect parents:  They don’t have any children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If only these people knew what complete assholes they were.  I just live for the day that these people will have actual living, breathing children.  Children that, regardless of how perfectly behaved your imaginary children were, will scream, cry, won’t sleep, talk back and drive you abso-fucking-lutely insanse.

Consider this blog to be SURVIVAL 101 for all the previously perfect parents that now have to actually parent and are failing miserably at creating perfect robots.

 

 

 

 

When you were a perfect parent, you said your children would NEVER watch TV.  Now that you actually have a kid, this should be the very first one that you let go of, for the sake of your own sanity.  TV is a wonderful, magical box that has the power to capture children’s attention and shut them up for hours at a time.  Now, if you have no desire to ever shower, go to the bathroom or enjoy a single moment of peace, then by all means, get rid of the magic box.  If, however, the aforementioned activities do sound appealing to you, turn on the live in nanny and let it do its job!  You don’t have to turn on Skinemax.  You have countless kid friendly options.  Not only do you get some down time and a chance to shower or open a new bottle of wine but in a few years when you realize that all that quality time with Barney has resulted in your toddler knowing shapes and colors, well you will know that you did the right thing and your kid learned more from TV than you had the time or patience to teach him/her.  Win, win.

Perfect parents also cook every single meal, including snacks, for their children.  It is also completely organic and free of trans fats and any artificial preservatives or dyes.  Once you have actual children, especially if you have more than one, you will find this to be a lofty goal.  Now, obviously, there are children with certain medical conditions that necessitate certain diets (gluten free, etc) and there is absolutely no reason to funnel trans fat and artificial dyes or high fructose corn syrup into your children.  Not cooking three gourmet meals and snacks a day does not mean that you have to resort to M&Ms and Mt Dew.  I, however, am not above making a quick meal or snack out of a peanut butter sandwich, cup of soup, cereal or lunchables.  When I am feeling like running for mother of the year, though, I might throw a pan of chicken nuggets in the oven.

Perfect parents would NEVER yell at their children or lose their cool, for even a moment.  They are always calm and collected and COMMUNICATE with their children.  They are always controlled and nothing short of effective.  When they actually have children, they will battle with themselves, at least, once a day to try and refrain from letting a litter or profanities fly from their mouths.

I am not a perfect parent and I never will be a perfect parent.  I will be the first to admit I have fucked up so many times and I will fuck up many more.  My children are not perfect.  They don’t always behave perfectly and they don’t always look perfect.  As a matter of fact, on most days, they are wearing nothing but underwear/diapers, as they run around the house.

If you want to be a perfect parent, you must make sure to never actually have any children.  That is the only way.  If you have any future plans of having children, I suggest you keep your perfect parenting advice and critiques to yourself.  Believe me, we may smile and nod but, inside, we are laughing at you, not with you.