Motherhood Uncensored

All I Ever Needed to Know About Parenting I Learned in Third Grade

I know that I have only been at this for 21 months, but I’m a pretty quick study. While I may not have any clue what the hell my daughter is saying half the time, or why she will eat a perfectly good piece of chicken one minute and then spit it out in 10,000 tiny chunks the next, I have learned the power of candy, bubbles, popsicles, and stickers – all four at the same time if necessary. I have figured out that putting her in time out on a fun “big person” chair with a direct view of the television doesn’t work for a punishment, but is a great way to get shit done around the house. And, I have concluded that DVDs are toddler crack of the very very good kind.

All those damn books talk non-stop about positive this and reinforcement that, but what about the stuff THAT REALLY FUCKING WORKS? So, I’ve taken matters into my own hands. Screw “the naughty spot.” All you ever needed to know about parenting was heckling you from behind or passing you a really stupid note. Yes. I sware. Third grade. So,  this one goes out to all my peeps everywhere who are too embarrassed to say, “I’m a sucker and my kid eats ice cream for dinner sometimes.”  Word to your slightly imperfect mother.

The Tattler ~ This parenting style is reminiscent of the bratty kid who stood around giving a play-by-play of all the fun yet terribly inappropriate stuff that was going on.

“Honey, the baby is spitting out all her food. At me. In my eye. Now on the floor. Oops, now smashing it into the carpet. Could you do something please? Maybe you should tell her to stop or something?”

No one likes a tattle-tale, now do they?

The Bully ~ Bullies make ridiculous threats that no one older than the age of 8 would believe, but yet they sound scary enough for you to shut your mouth and do what they say.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to take that Little People’s Village, hang it by the ceiling fan, and spin it around so many times that it will turn into Tupperware. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING TO YOU?”

The Nerdy Wimp ~ Do you remember the little kid that everyone took advantage of? You know, he sat alone at his desk eating his spinach quiche, juice spritzer, and sugarfree pineapple upsidedown cake all the while pushing his really huge glasses up his nose and reading the New Yorker.

“Okay. Have more cake. Ice cream. Lollipops. I don’t have any more money to give, but you can take my watch and car keys. You want to watch Girls Gone Wild? Sure. Let me just spit-shine the TV for you so you can see the large breasts more clearly.”

The Briber ~ I always liked the bribers. They could get crack from a crackhead – and all they had to say was, “I’ll be your best friend.” Un-fucking believable.

“When we get home, we’re going to watch all your favorite movies and eat ice cream. If you clean up your room, I will give you $10,000 dollars. Really. And you can spend it all on toys.”

The Bitch ~ Unlike the briber, the bitch was never really likable, but always very popular. She had 12 pairs of Dr. Scholls, a really cool Trapper Keeper, and a way to make you feel like the size of a small pea.

“No. You can’t eat that. Because I said so. That’s just how it is. I’m your mom. And what I say goes. That’s right. End of story. Buh-bye.”

The Clown ~ This poor kid always got in trouble for doing really stupid shit, like sticking an entire pencil up his nose, or eating an eraser. He was somewhat funny, but mostly annoying.

“Look. Mommy’s driving with no hands. Woo-hoo. Ooh look. Mommy’s head is between her legs. Peek-a-boo!”

Many have tried. Few have actually been successful at the “clowning to stop a toddler from screaming his guts out” act. Personally, I suggest “The Briber.”

 
So fess up people. I want to hear it. What’s your worst offense? I promise. The truth will set you free and we can all get a good laugh too.

I'm a Feminista

I’ll buy my daughter a dolly, but she’ll get a set of matchbox cars and a fire engine too.

I like men, but that doesn’t mean I want to sleep with all of them.

I might carry a purse, but I’m not afraid to hit you with it.

I have class. I’ll flip you off with my nicely manicured finger.

I like to wear skirts, but I look hotter in pants.

I have style. I’ll give you hell in my Manolos and Seven jeans.

Just because I listen to your shit, doesn’t mean I’m going to take it.

I wear a bra, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to burn it.

I have grace. I’ll kick your ass with a pointed toe.

I might be married, but I’m nobody’s bitch.

I shave my pits and legs. And I’ll shave my head too if it means equality for women.

I’m a feminista. What about you?

*Search feminism at  Cafepress for shirts.

**We're starting fun give-a-ways at CMP. You should check it out.

The Highly Underrated but Still Fairly Important Developmental Milestone # 24,752: Private Pooping

It only took 20.7 months, but my daughter has finally reached the point where she is insistent on pooping in private. A couple of vigorous hand waves and an uncomfortable grunt, and we are sent packing to the other side of the house until the deed is done. It’s one of those rarely mentioned yet still important developmental milestones that most people don’t notice – except for bathroom obsessed people like me.

I’m actually surprised that it took her this long. I’m pretty sure I required the private pooping room since birth. I’m not for the communal crap party myself. A securely locking door, a good magazine, and the glorious bathroom fan, and then I can go. Candles are excellent but optional. Matches and Lysol are required.

I’ve been known to hold it for long periods of time to avoid the always uncomfortable public poopy. In very worst case scenarios, I have taken the plunge, so to speak, but only with a couple specific requirements. Not only do I check to make sure I’m at least 2 stalls away from someone, but I strategically place my poops at times when other people are flushing. I have even flushed my own toilet out of pure and utter desperation.

The worst is when there are only one or two stalls, and someone comes in and obviously needs to go. You can see their feet tapping right in front of your stall and you know they have looked under about 14 times to see if there is actually someone in there. The more they tap the less I can go – thus making for a higher chance that they will indeed pee themselves and I will still have to poop.

And seriously, what’s up with the door knock and knob tug? That is not going to motivate anything but expletives to come pouring out of me. I promise.

I’m not sure if the public poop or the poop-at-a-friend’s house is worse. Nothing is worse than having to go at a party knowing that someone after you is going to have to endure the stench that you have attempted to cover up with whatever you can find. Yes. I have scavenged through cabinets to find anything that will smell better than my poop. I have poured shampoo, comet, and, um, perfume in the toilet to cover up the smell. Just try it - Four drops of Chanel #5 kicks the shit (or shit smell, really) out of that damn "Country Cottage" glade any day.

On really bad occasions, I have even blamed it on someone else – like it was already stinky when I got in there. “Phew. Dude, it reeks in there – I’m not sure who blew it up, but holy shit.”

Needless to say, I happily oblige when my daughter gives me the intense, eye-watering look that indicates “large shit coming now.” I hand her a Curious George anthology and exit quickly before the bomb drops.

But before I get all teary-eyed that my daughter is growing up, I have to say that while she does seek privacy, she won’t let me change the disgusting poopy diaper without a fight. So I guess you could say that while you can take the poop out of the girl,  you can’t take the girl out of her poop. Go figure.