My husband I try to follow the same page when it comes to parenting. However, what we constitute as “important” is vastly different. I truly believe there are times my husband brain is made of play-do. Take for example this afternoon.
My beloved boys arrived home shortly after I did this afternoon. The smell hit me like a freight train, I knew immediately what the offending odor was…gasoline. I refused to go near my husband believing he was the carrier of the smell, but immediately reached down to hug my son. Wait a minute, what is this, my child is reeking of the foul waft of gas! My husband says nothing to me and walks in the house. Before I can ask why my baby smells like petro and not baby powder, Mike gingerly and calmly states, you may want to wash his face and hands he dumped al little gas over his head at the neighbors. WHAT! What is a “little” gas, obviously it was more than a drop, but drastically less than the BP disaster. My mind conjures up a pictures of the birds that are oil covered, being carried away and put into cages…OH NO – is this what is going to happen to my child. A do-gooder volunteer is going to knock on my door with oversized rubber gloves on and toss him into a cage?
If I had been there when the incident I occurred (hhmm, strange to write that because if I were there I it never would have happened) I would have immediately put the baby in the car and headed to the ER. Gas + baby surely equals a terrible rash or seepage into the blood stream that would most definitely cause permanent damage! I scoop up the boy up and take him into the shower. His shower was reminiscent of the scene in “Sillkwood” when Cher got contaminated and had to wash in the contamination shower at work. I was scrubbing and lathering and rescrubbing and lathering. His hair was washed and rinsed 3 times. I used the wash cloth and soap with surgical precision as if my sons life depended on it (and in my mind it did!)
My husband believes I am over reacting, maybe I should dump some gas on him!!!
Monday, June 14, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Mommy
I love being a mom. My son brings me happiness and is teaching me how wonderful life is each day. However, my faithful few, I am going to be truthful. Being a mom can really SUCK!
Out of the 24 hours in a day I probably feel complete bliss and peace with my child for about 1 hour of them. Oh please…if you do not admit the same you must be on some heavy duty drugs, or your kid is! My child is only two, and I am told it gets better, but thus far, the light has not shone on the end of my tunnel.
Billy is absolutely beautiful, bit blue eyes, blonde hair, and infectious laugh and a smile that lets him get away with anything. But then there is the TRUE Billy, the monster within….
He will run to you and wrap his teeny arms around you in a sweet offering of affection, don’t let him fool you, the little cherub is plotting...he really wants fling your glasses from your face and watch you blindly crawl on the floor fumbling your way through mounds of dog hair to locate them. He does this with a shit eating grin on his face.
He will come to you with a favorite toy, he will gently ask you to “play”. You gleefully accept, excited and proud that he is behaving so wonderfully. Two minutes into what you believe is a bonding and learning experience, the little boy whips his cars to the floor and begins a monster dance on them, screaming like a wild banshsee. You run in fear, taking cover under the nearest door way to avoid the path of destruction the tornado will surely leave.
I could go on forever, but I am sure you get the point. The next time I find myself in the unfortunate situation of being surrounded by a group of stepford moms who are ooing and aaawing over the “joys” of motherhood, I think I will reach up with a nerf hammer and begin bashing them thouroughly about their heads and upper torsos. While they are distracted I will reach into their diaper bags and grab myself a handful of their “happy” pills…hey maybe being a mom could be great every minute of every day….I really need to get me some of those meds.
Out of the 24 hours in a day I probably feel complete bliss and peace with my child for about 1 hour of them. Oh please…if you do not admit the same you must be on some heavy duty drugs, or your kid is! My child is only two, and I am told it gets better, but thus far, the light has not shone on the end of my tunnel.
Billy is absolutely beautiful, bit blue eyes, blonde hair, and infectious laugh and a smile that lets him get away with anything. But then there is the TRUE Billy, the monster within….
He will run to you and wrap his teeny arms around you in a sweet offering of affection, don’t let him fool you, the little cherub is plotting...he really wants fling your glasses from your face and watch you blindly crawl on the floor fumbling your way through mounds of dog hair to locate them. He does this with a shit eating grin on his face.
He will come to you with a favorite toy, he will gently ask you to “play”. You gleefully accept, excited and proud that he is behaving so wonderfully. Two minutes into what you believe is a bonding and learning experience, the little boy whips his cars to the floor and begins a monster dance on them, screaming like a wild banshsee. You run in fear, taking cover under the nearest door way to avoid the path of destruction the tornado will surely leave.
I could go on forever, but I am sure you get the point. The next time I find myself in the unfortunate situation of being surrounded by a group of stepford moms who are ooing and aaawing over the “joys” of motherhood, I think I will reach up with a nerf hammer and begin bashing them thouroughly about their heads and upper torsos. While they are distracted I will reach into their diaper bags and grab myself a handful of their “happy” pills…hey maybe being a mom could be great every minute of every day….I really need to get me some of those meds.
Friday, June 4, 2010
I am writing this blog to my 2 year old son, in the hopes that one day while he is cyber surfing he will come across it and realize what an ass he can be! Yes, my faithful few, I called my child an ass! Get over it!
Dearest Billy,
Money does not grow on trees, you parents work very hard to put a roof over your head and by you the best and newest items. You must learn to respect Mommy and Daddys toys as well.
Why, oh why do you do the destructive things you do? You have cost your parents one billion dollars over the past two weeks. Lets begin with the phone. I realize that smashing it to the floor time and time again is great fun. I know how much you enjoy watching the battery fly out of the back and roll under the couch. But my loving child, it cost mommy and daddy $75.00 to replace it.
I am well aware Daddy left my camera in arms length of your tiny little hands. I assumed that once I yelled” Billy, no, put it down”, you would listen diligently and do as you were told. It was not necessary to show me that you could throw it halfway across the living room and over the couch, until it fell to its death. I would have been just as proud of your sluggers arm if you did it with say….um, a nerf ball. That little antic winded up taking $140.00 out of your college fund.
By far , my little cherub the worst act in the past two weeks was crashing our computer. You parents were well aware it was a seven year old dinosaur, but until you got a hold of it, it was performing the necessary functions. I am not exactly sure how you murdered it, but I do know one thing, I saw you tapping away at the keyboard and playing with disc drives. That was the last time she ever saw the light of day. We will not even dare to speak of how much buying a new on set your ever suffering parents aback.
Please my young son, I implore you, stay away from the household electronics. Mom and dad are not made of money. If you want to continue to eat and have this roof over your head keep your little fingers to yourself!
Dearest Billy,
Money does not grow on trees, you parents work very hard to put a roof over your head and by you the best and newest items. You must learn to respect Mommy and Daddys toys as well.
Why, oh why do you do the destructive things you do? You have cost your parents one billion dollars over the past two weeks. Lets begin with the phone. I realize that smashing it to the floor time and time again is great fun. I know how much you enjoy watching the battery fly out of the back and roll under the couch. But my loving child, it cost mommy and daddy $75.00 to replace it.
I am well aware Daddy left my camera in arms length of your tiny little hands. I assumed that once I yelled” Billy, no, put it down”, you would listen diligently and do as you were told. It was not necessary to show me that you could throw it halfway across the living room and over the couch, until it fell to its death. I would have been just as proud of your sluggers arm if you did it with say….um, a nerf ball. That little antic winded up taking $140.00 out of your college fund.
By far , my little cherub the worst act in the past two weeks was crashing our computer. You parents were well aware it was a seven year old dinosaur, but until you got a hold of it, it was performing the necessary functions. I am not exactly sure how you murdered it, but I do know one thing, I saw you tapping away at the keyboard and playing with disc drives. That was the last time she ever saw the light of day. We will not even dare to speak of how much buying a new on set your ever suffering parents aback.
Please my young son, I implore you, stay away from the household electronics. Mom and dad are not made of money. If you want to continue to eat and have this roof over your head keep your little fingers to yourself!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
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