Monday, March 28, 2011


Took a nap after taking G to school. S didn't wake up until 10. Walk in his room to get him- and S and his crib are drenched in pee. Clean up the baby, walk into the bedroom, kick the husband. "Did you change the baby before you put him down this morning?" "No." "Fuck you. It's not like I've not asked you to do that 10 times because he keeps waking up wet."

Now, before you all get upset because I'm waking up my husband about an unchanged diaper... Let me explain. He works nights. He gets home around 1am. He plays PS3 until S wakes up. Sometimes S wants to play. Sometimes S wants to sleep. Dave stays up until about 7am, playing Playstion, AngryBirds, watching TV, porn or whatever, gets the kids ready for school and then goes to sleep until 2. He gets up and leaves for work at 3. So yes. I'm pissed about an unchanged diaper... What else does the mother fucker have to do during those 6 hours? He's not solving world hunger or the global economy, FFS. Occasionally, I get lucky and he will pick up the living room or vacuum.

And that's when he expects the panties to fly off.

Anyway, so when he woke up for real, I told him that if I ever woke up to find the baby putting a toy that was covered in pee in his mouth because Dave didn't feel like changing a diaper, I was going to pelt him in the head with pee covered items and spray him with ice water until he got up and cleaned up the mess...

I know, it's not rocket surgery. I know, we all have gripes about our significant others- But I think that changing a diaper isn't to much to ask, is it?

Saturday, March 26, 2011


There's something to be said about trying to raise responsible children... And how much of a pain in the ass it really is.

For example. Before G transferred schools, he lost a library book. I told him he needed to find it before he went to the new school. I told him he needed to find it before he went to Library at the new school. I told him that he needed to find it. I guess he thought that he was going to be sneaky (Because he usually does. If he thinks he can get away with it, he will try) and check out Library books. Well, the systems between schools are connected, little man. No new books for you.

Now, in our house, there is a list of things mommy doesn't find. Shoes, Library books, Coats, and toys/toy parts. He comes home yesterday and looks and searches and tears his bedroom apart looking for it. Can't find it. Comes out and tells me he can't find it and I can see he's debating about telling me he thinks that I threw it away- He's weighing the option of the get out of jail free card vs. the mommy flying into a rage at him losing someone else's property. He takes the risk. Tells me that I might have thrown it away when I went Storm Trooper on their bedroom a few weeks ago and got rid of 5 lawn bags full of crap.

I give him the look. He's terrified. He's pathetic looking with his mohawk, and I see tears welling up... But I concede his point. Relief. But then mommy drops the bomb- I'm not paying for it. He is going to. "Well, how am I going to pay for it?" "Work."

You know that slow motion moment in 'A Christmas Story' when Ralphie drops the lug nuts and yells "OH FUCKKKK"... Well G had one of those moments internally. But if he's anything, he's smart. To avoid the lecture, he said, "Can I go clean our room all by myself to pay for it?" "It will pay for some of the book. I don't know how much the book is worth, but it's worth more than one job."

'A Christmas Story' moment flashes across his face again... And he can tell it's about to only get worse for him. I proceed to tell him that if he does a half assed job or tells me he's done before he's really done, it's going to deduct from the money that he would have earned for the job. (Doing things correctly the first time is a big lesson in our house too.)

But in the end, he did it, without any complaints, without any half assedness, without telling me it was done when it wasn't...

So I'm proud of my G. He's struggled quite a bit lately emotionally and physically... But he's rebounding and realizing that if he just does it the way it's supposed to be done the first time... His life is much, much easier.

Now, why can't the rest of us learn that lesson?

Friday, March 25, 2011


So, I fall out of bed at 6:30 this morning and am greeted by L. "Mom, my stomach hurts.".

Ok, now in a house full of boys, this is usually caused by four things. 1) To much playing outside, not enough water. Usually tandem with being dizzy, feeling funny, floaty, or weak legged. 2) Trying to get out of school. We've had plenty of this Anxiety crap this year, but I let it ride sometimes. 3) Actual illness. 4) Forgetting to poop.

My first question to him was, "Did you poop yesterday?" "No" "Go poop".

G and I were getting ready, and I'm in a full on battle with the cafeteria manager of G's new school. (Don't stamp my kid's hand with the amount of money he owes. We know. He's NEW. We didn't know when his lunch account would transfer over. BITE MY ASS.) "MOM... I still don't feel good. I'm going back to bed."

Um. Ok.

Now, when L's made up his mind about something, there's usually no arguing with him. You can tell him to do otherwise and he will- But he will just give you death eyes and mutter under his breath about how much you suck the entire time.

Take G to school, come back, S is screaming. Teeth. Fuck me. I pull him out of bed and check on L. "Can I watch TV." "No" "Ok".

I come out to the living room to feed S, and pause the Gabba we're watching and hear the TV. WTF. "L! What are you doing?" "I'm watching TV, duh." "Didn't I tell you no?" "Yeah." "So why did you turn on your TV?" "Because you told me I could press the button." "Um, try again." "Ok, mom, mainly because I wanted to.".

So I tell him to go lay down. I'm still dealing with the S, and I hit Shaken Baby Syndrome Threshold. I go put him in his crib, and go check on L. "How you feeling." "My stomach still hurts and I have a mild fever." I start laughing. "No Mom, it's really not funny." "How are you self diagnosing?" "Well, my stomach hurts and my head feels a little warm. That's how I know it's a mild fever and not a major one."

And my world spins madly on...

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Four: It's about Boobs.

So just a minute ago, this article on my Facebook news feed caught my eye.

Breast: Incompetent but Best.

So we're going to talk about boobies today, folks.

So, as most of you know, I've shot three kids out of my vagina. G came along when I was 19, L when I was 21, and S when I was 27. With G, I tried and tried to nurse him. L, I made nothing. Not even that fun stuff that leaks out of your boobs when your pregnant... But my life was also different with G and L. Dave was a different person with a different career- And I knew he wasn't going to be around, and I was going to be alone those days that I wanted to drown the kid in the bathtub for biting me for the 27th time that day.

When we got closer to S's due date, I knew G and L were going to be out of the state for an extended period of time but that I was also going to have issues- So I gave it my all. I tried to nurse, which he hated because there wasn't enough to keep him interested. So we bottle fed and supplemented with breast milk- The whole 5 ounces I got pumping 10 times a day. I took herbs. I took Reglan. I drank that god awful tea. I got advice from every Know-Everything. I attended La Leche League meetings. (Never feed your child a bottle at a La Leche League meeting. They will chase you out of there with pitchforks and torches) I returned to the lactation consultant at the hospital. (90 dollars that my insurance didn't pay for, BTW. Where's the fucking justice in my 14k a year policy, Aetna?)

I tried and tried and tried... And for 8 weeks, S got every bit of breast milk I could give him. Then G and L came home. Do you have any idea how draining it is to pump every 8 hours, on top of doing most of the baby's feedings and trying to take care of (then) 5 and 7 year olds? Yeah.

So I quit. Not without it's share of guilt, though. And now, I have quite a few friends who are on the 'Boobie Brigade'. You know the type... The militant breastfeeders- The ones who will breastfeed until their child is 2 or in Kindergarten or whatever. The ones who's first assumption is 'What a terrible mother' when they see you pop a bottle in your child's mouth. I also have friends who are on the bottle side of life. I also have friends who see women breastfeeding a 9 month old and their first thought is "Ok. So now that he's old enough to ask for it, when are you going to stop?".

So, honestly, I think that we all know that breast is best. But there comes a point in life where our choices are just that. I don't think that any of my breastfeeding friends are any less competent than I am at parenting or life because they nurse. Nor do I think that my bottle feeding friends are any more competent. (Most days, I think they are all more competent than I am.) In the 50's, American culture's love of big Pharma took on this pedestrian view of breastfeeding with the dry up shots and the invention of formula... But science is now telling us otherwise.

But being judgmental of either camp isn't going to change minds or hearts in our lifetime... Because the very person that you're judging could be someone like me. And labeling breastfeeding mothers anything short of dedicated isn't going to help anyone.

Side note: Turns out, I had an underlying medical condition. Had it been diagnosed, I would have been able to almost completely nurse all three boys.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011


Quite regularly, my children come up with the most... Humorous things.

When G and L were a few years younger, they used to play super heroes. Their super power? Nipples that shot off and punched the enemy in the eye.

The title of the blog is something that L said to my MIL when he was 4, in response to something she said about my FIL. "OH, That Grandpa. He's being so silly.". "That's not silly. That's stupidity.".

L's the one who comes up with most of the gems. G catches me off guard every so often, but L... Oh, evil, little plotting L... One of his spelling words this week is GIRL. Easy peasy for L, right? You ask him to spell girl, and he'll spell it, and then all the words he can think of that rhyme with girl. Part of his assignment is to write a sentence using each of his spelling words.

For all of you who wish you have a genius child- Do yourselves a favor and stop... Because this is what your 6 year old's homework will end up looking like-

"WOW, Look at that hot girl.". Correct punctuation and all. So, in checking his homework for legibility, I come across the gem there, and nearly spit my pasta. "L! Who gave you this sentence?!".

"Mom. Who do you think? Besides, boys like hot girls.".

And my world spins madly on...

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


I take issue with a lot of things in life. Granted, they are things that I probably should not take issue with.

Today's issue: My sister in law turning my G's bullying issue into a 5 page Facebook page on her experiences as a child and about how it still effects her psyche today.

You're 28. You still live at home. You don't work. You are going to college, AGAIN, after having a 5 year degree on Mommy and Daddy's dime and are usually bitching about not knowing what to do with your time or about how your dad's yelling at you to keep your 2 bedroom's clean.

At some point, GROW UP. We've all got shit. We really do. My relationship with my parents is threadbare. I'm not all "WOAH IS MEEEEEE. They won't give me money to go get diagnosed as Austisitc."

What I don't understand is how two people that shot out of the same woman's vagina and were parented relatively the same have turned out so differently. Yeah, Dave annoys the ever living fuck out of me most days but at the end of those days, he's the one that I know will be there for me to depend on. He supports this family with a job that he happened to be great at- not one that he chose. He's acknowledged his problems and is an amazing father and example to our boys.

I guess it comes down to how each individual handles what they go through in life. We'll tell L that if he keeps walking on toys that we're going to take him to the Dr and have his feet cut off or that if he keeps acting up that we're going to take him back to the circus and return him to his real parents. He just laughs at us and tells us to stop being stupid. (But still believes that we're still actually stealing his nose.) G, on the other hand, has required a therapist to get through what he's gone through this year- For fear that he was either going to eat his entire headboard or wear down his teeth gnawing on it. (But if we try to steal his nose, he slaps our hands, tells us he's not a baby anymore and asks to play Call of Duty.)

And as a mom, it's all about how you handle what your kids are going through. Had Dave's parents reacted differently to him growing up, he'd be a different person. Had his dad not had the anger issues he still exhibits today... Who knows what happens... Had I not gone through what I went through growing up, would I be so worried that I'm failing my children and one of them is going to turn out like SIL? Or worried that G is going to be the kid that takes a pipe bomb to school because he internalizes everything?

Why doesn't the manual shoot out of the vagina after the kid?

Monday, March 21, 2011


So I've been told for a while that I need to start writing things down. Not everything, but the random bullshit things that happen to me on a daily basis. If you don't really know me, then you're asking, "Well, like what?".

Well, how about the time that L pepper sprayed himself while S was in the hospital last month?

G deciding that the MOST appropriate time to bust out a "That's what she said" joke was in front of the Administrative Dean at his elementary school's Culture Night? (And before you ask, yes, it was hysterical.)

Or S. Sweet little baby S... Becoming, well, a redhead.

I have a crazy mother, a father who doesn't give a damn, inlaws who believe that L needs to be medicated, and the absolute kicker. I'm married to a 30 year old man child who, last night, I kid you not, woke me up in the middle of the night to ask me where the peanut butter was.
"Did you look on the counter?" "On which counter?" "ARE WE FUCKING SERIOUS HERE?" "OH WAIT!", he yells from the kitchen, "I found it. Thanks.".

Because the world would stop turning if we didn't find the peanut butter at 3am.